


Crash Into Me

by nerdlife4eva



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Romance, Falling In Love, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Ice Skating, Laughter, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mild Injury, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Romantic Fluff, Skype, Vicchan Dies, Victuuri Big Bang 2017, canon anxiety, learning about each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-25 09:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12527876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdlife4eva/pseuds/nerdlife4eva
Summary: Yuuri and Victor begin the Sochi Grand Prix Series at Skate America in Detroit. When Victor becomes entranced by Yuuri's skating during warmups, he finds himself moving too close and causes them to collide. Their journey starts with a crash, but along the way, they learn what it really means to fall.My contribution to theVicturi-big-bang on Tumblrwhich could have never been completed without my amazing partner in love, life and this collaboration. This bang brought us together and I am forever grateful for everything thatrikichiehas brought into my life. Please check out all of Riki's art on her Tumblr (you'll find some of us there too) and you can see the first round of the amazing art for this ficherePlease go give Riki some love!!!





	1. When we fall, we do it together

**Author's Note:**

> For the purpose of this fic, the competitions of the Grand Prix Series are as folllows:  
> Skate America - Detroit  
> Skate Canada - Toronto  
> Cup of China  
> Rostelecom Cup - Moscow  
> Trophe Eric Bompad - France  
> NHK Trophy - Japan  
> Grand Prix Finals in Sochi (Sochi)  
> (If you have any interest in knowing which skaters competed where, I actually mapped out this information ha ha)
> 
> If you enjoy this fic and would like to see other collaborations between me and Riki, please check out our other fics:  
> [Expressions of Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11626041)  
> [Home is better with you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12182775)
> 
> You can also visit us both on Tumblr here:  
> [rikichie](https://rikichie.tumblr.com)  
> [n3rdlif343va](https://n3rdlif343va.tumblr.com)
> 
> Or on Twitter here:  
> [Riki](https://twitter.com/rikicohn)  
> [NeRdLife4Eva](https://twitter.com/NeRdLife4Eva)

The arena was quiet, with the exception of the scraping of metal blades against cold ice. Above them the largest iridescent lights flickered, each group of lights warming up as they clicked slowly to life, adding their illumination to the already bright rink lights. Their breaths puffed out in front of them, foggy reminders that despite the sweat coating their bodies, the vast space was unforgivingly cold.

Coaches were no longer shouting at their skaters, content to allow the young men the opportunity to move with their individual music flowing directly into their minds via individual sets of earbuds. The skaters were mumbling to themselves, humming favorite sections of their songs, and talking through their building nerves, all in failing attempts to work through the excess energy that settled in prior to competition. All around them the anticipation of the day floated like a haunting ghost.

Yuuri had arrived first, Phichit and Coach Celestino following him toward the rink as he slipped his guards from his skates and took his place on the freshly smoothed ice. He was still giggling at Phichit’s grand declarations of being Yuuri’s therapist, an excuse to allow him into the closed practice that had left both Ciao Ciao and Yuuri snickering behind their hands. The description wasn’t exactly wrong, and Yuuri flicked his gaze to his best friend, letting his smile continue to play over his lips as he shook his head. Having Phichit with him for this competition was definitely the biggest perk of Skate America taking place in Detroit.

It was the quiet that Yuuri loved the most. Being surrounded by the dull static of the workers setting up for the event and the low murmur of Phichit slowly annoying Ciao Ciao to the brink of their coach’s sanity. He was doing it as a favor to Yuuri, distracting Ciao Ciao so that Yuuri could wind his way lazily over the ice before the corrections began. Corrections brought doubt, and doubt brought fear, all of which Yuuri wanted to avoid for at least ten minutes of his precious ice time.

Chris had arrived second, waving a hand to Yuuri and rolling his eyes when Yuuri only nodded back at him. Yuuri knew he had a reputation for being standoffish prior to competitions, but he would make it up to Chris once he was finished his time on the ice. He couldn’t talk before the short program, or his ability to keep his anxious demons away would vanish and anyone who had competed with him before knew this without question.

By the time Seung-gil and Victor arrived, Yuuri had succumbed to the torture of pre-competition adjustments and corrections, leaning over the railing to stretch his legs as Celestino continued to critique his first round of warm ups. He listened with a careful ear, nodding his head silently while remaining focused on the ice below his feet. Yuuri knew that Victor would be sharing the ice with him for this first round of the Grand Prix series, and despite his hours of listening to Phichit squeal and scheme about the circumstances, he was doing everything possible to ignore his idol’s presence as his coach spoke to the top of his downturned head.

Victor Nikiforov, champion skater, brilliant choreographer, and all around darling of the skating world. Everyone knew who Victor was, but no one knew him quite like Yuuri did.

It wasn’t only posters and articles that Yuuri hoarded in the small confines of his shared apartment with Phichit. He had years of video saved, cataloging Victor’s progress from his start as a junior to the top of the seniors. Yuuri kept notes, multiple spiral notebooks of small observations over the years. The angle of Victor’s skates as he landed his famous quad flip, the facial expressions he used to convey his stories, and the names of all the composers he had ever used for his programs filled each page of Yuuri’s books. Yuuri wasn’t a fan of Victor, Victor was his idol and Yuuri took that designation very seriously. Glancing over his shoulder at the sound of harsh Russian being spoken in an accusatory tone, Yuuri barely contained his squeak as his eyes fell on Victor’s perfect figure. With one last nod at Celestino, Yuuri shoved his earbuds deep into his ears, determined to drown out the overwhelming presence of the man he admired most.  

_Another day, another program_ , Victor lamented, handing his skate guards to a continuously grumpy Yakov. Someone had definitely peed in his coach’s cheerios that morning, and Victor shoved away from the opening quickly, trying to escape the tyrannical opinions of his ancient coach. _Yakov wasn’t that old_ , Victor scolded himself, smiling anyway at his own unspoken insults as he raced around the ice, pulling his gloves into place.

There was a time when arriving at the rink brought him a rush of excitement coursing through his body and making him feel like he was born to command the ice. Prior to traveling to this competition, Victor had found himself sitting in the middle of his living room with all of his old journals spread over his lap trying to recapture that feeling. It had been like trying to catch rain water in a colander, leaving Victor frustrated and without motivation heading into the grand prix series.

His earbuds dangled over the collar of his shirt. The lack of desire to lift them to his ears left Victor to hum his music. Practicing every day with little break meant that each beat was ingrained in him, a part of his mind and body with or without the accompaniment of a piano. Enjoying the mindlessness of skating warm up laps, Victor repressed a groan as Yakov barked at him from the side of the rink.

Yuuri stared at the ice as Victor passed by him, less than a foot from where Yuuri was mentally walking through his step sequence. Victor was shouting a response at his coach, making Yuuri smile slightly at his skates. On the rare occasion that Yuuri had the guts to disagree with Celestino, it was in the snarky tone of his youth. The way Victor was arguing with Coach Feltsman was beyond anything Yuuri would ever dream of doing. _Another way that Victor was stronger than him_ , he thought, feeling the anxiety begin to rise as he tried to push the thought away. Every skater was stronger than him, even Phichit who was in his last year of juniors, but now was not the time to let that thought spiral. Pushing his earbuds deeper into his ears, Yuuri pushed off from the side, centering himself in the music and letting his body move.

Yakov stormed away from the side of the rink, leaving Victor to stand alone. There hadn’t been any real necessity to fighting with his coach, but sometimes Victor pushed the man’s buttons solely to feel something other than the dull emptiness that sat at the pit of his stomach. Rolling his neck, Victor noted that all the other coaches had taken their seats, leaving their skaters to their own devices on the ice. Absorbing the quiet, Victor turned to face the ice again.

A figure moving to Victor’s left made him freeze in his spot. Clad in a black and blue warmup suit, Katsuki Yuuri was moving across the ice in a dreamlike state. His eyes were partially closed, but his body was moving as if to paint a story with every flick of his wrist and twist of his hips. Victor couldn’t hear Yuuri’s music, but he could feel it and his heart began to race as he was drawn forward toward the other skater.

Music pouring into him, Yuuri let his body be directed by it, ignoring the nervous chatter of his internal monologue while letting his limbs move in their own memories. It was soothing to leave the world behind, falling into the control of the music without a need to tell his body where to go. He knew these steps, they had become a part of him, and he had to trust his body in order to overcome the ever-growing monster in his mind. Dropping his eyelids, Yuuri kicked into the final part of his step sequence.

Victor was a moth to Yuuri’s flame, being unexplainably and unknowingly pulled to the blur of beautiful movement. Every push of his blades on the ice brought him closer to Yuuri’s enticing beauty and Victor could feel himself getting lost in the song he couldn’t hear. Breathless, he pushed forward in the same moment that Yuuri whirled, bringing their worlds crashing together.

Yuuri was falling through the air before he realized that Victor was falling beneath him, blue eyes wide with shock as their bodies headed for a crash course on the ice. Moving on instinct, Yuuri threw his hand behind Victor’s head, the other cradling Victor’s side as they landed with a thud on the unforgiving cold.

 

The breath had been knocked from his chest, but all Victor could feel was the gentle cradle of Yuuri’s palm on the back of his head and the press of Yuuri’s body against his own. They fit together, like they were meant to be in this position, and the thought momentarily derailed Victor from anything else. He should be apologizing, or trying to help Yuuri get up, but Victor was captured in the panicked brown eyes hovering above him. Realizing he had wrapped his hands around Yuuri’s sides as they fell, Victor gave an experimental squeeze as he smiled sheepishly into Yuuri’s breathtakingly beautiful face. “Hi, I think I fell for you.” Internally he groaned at how cheesy that sounded, but most of his experience with this sort of thing came from romantic comedies and books. It sounded like something that should be said in this type of moment, although the bright red flush to Yuuri’s cheeks had Victor questioning his decision.

“I’m so sorry!” Yuuri spoke around the pain in his lungs where his breath had been stolen. He wasn’t positive that it was the fall that had taken it as he continued to remain frozen, holding Victor while his idol smiled so fondly at him that Yuuri felt himself begin to melt. He began to return the smile, finding the pink on Victor’s cheeks endearing and his ridiculous statement even more so, when he registered the sound of clicking cameras bleeding into the shouting voices of their coaches. Before Yuuri could say anything else, hands were being wrapped around his arms and yanking him to his feet.

Seung-gil stood next to him, glaring daggers at Yuuri’s face as he pulled the glove from Yuuri’s hand, bringing the back of the same hand into view. There was blood running between his knuckles where the skin had split and the area had already begun to bruise and raise with gathering fluid. Feeling sick, he barely registered Chris pulling Victor from the ice, only returning to focus when Victor grabbed out at his arm.

“You’re hurt! You saved my head, but your hand!’ Victor was running his gloved fingers over Yuuri’s carefully cradled hand, glancing around the ice in a panic. On the side of the rink, Yakov was screaming next to a man who was presumably Yuuri’s coach. Even in his worried haze, Victor noticed the slightly amused look on the other coach’s face, wondering exactly why any coach would find the situation amusing. Tabling that thought for another time, Victor returned his attention to Yuuri. “You need to get to the trainer, come on,” still cradling Yuuri’s hand, Victor began guiding him toward the rink opening.

_It was nice_ , Yuuri thought, as he stared at the back of Victor’s head with admiring wonder. Victor was being so caring, warmly holding Yuuri’s hand as if it was the most precious thing in the world. As irrational as it seemed, Yuuri wanted to let him continue, until he once again heard the sounds of the stalking wolves of the rink media. Jerking as he heard his name called, Yuuri pulled himself free of Victor. “I’ve got it from here,” he snapped, fleeing from the ice and toward the tunnel without looking back, grateful to see Phichit intervening with the press. He felt the tightness gripping at his throat, the sickness building in his stomach as he hurried on unguarded blades toward the trainer’s room and away from the inevitable madness.

Victor watched Yuuri’s retreating back, ignoring the sound of his name being shouted by the most annoying conglomerate of the skating world. Katsuki Yuuri, man with the plain brown eyes, had just run down the tunnel with Victor’s heart. 

* * *

 

Standing in the middle of the ice, skating in a slow circle waiting for the signal to take his position, Yuuri continued to obsess on the ugliness of his bandage. Celestino and Phichit had sworn to him that the judges would not take points off for the absurdly large bandage wrapped around his hand, but he still could not let go of his need to analyze every ostentatious piece of the white and black wrappings. He had needed two very painful stitches, administered only with a topical numbing agent, and would need a follow up x-ray once the swelling dissipated. The first x-ray had been painful and Yuuri had gritted his teeth against the press of his hand onto the positioning board. No one thought he had broken his hand, but the trainer had secured it as a precaution.

The warnings about competing while in pain and heavy warning about not touching down on the ice with his injured hand were whirling in Yuuri’s brain making it impossible to think of anything else. He could feel the swell of negativity begin to push against the walls of his chest and he closed his eyes to try to breathe through it.

Standing on the sidelines, his program already complete, Victor couldn’t help keeping his eyes on Yuuri. He had tried to speak with Yuuri since the moment Yuuri had reappeared at the rink side, but Chris had continued to stand in his way, as had Yakov. All he wanted to know was if Yuuri was alright, and he could feel that frustration still plaguing his mind.

The break music came to a close and Victor leaned over the railing as Yuuri took his starting position. How had he never noticed the perfect curves of Yuuri’s body? How could he possibly of missed the unruly black hair and mesmerizing moves? He knew Yuuri by name and the general level of his skill in the same way that Victor knew most of his competitors, but he had missed all of the things that made Yuuri special. Unable to control himself, Victor leaned further over the railing and yelled, “Good luck!”

Those two words rang in Yuuri’s ears, vibrating their way straight to Yuuri’s heart. Taking a deep breath, Yuuri glanced up, giving Victor a small smile before he pushed off to begin his routine.

“Victor…”

Next to him, Victor heard Yakov’s warning tone, the tone that was meant to remind Victor where his focus should be. Unfortunately for Yakov, Victor had already decided that focusing on Yuuri Katsuki and finding a way to get to know him was the most important use of his current time.

* * *

 

Life felt surreal. Yuuri stood on the second highest platform, raising his silver medal closer to his face as instructed by the photographer. Next to him, Victor was standing the highest, gold medal dangling from his fingers as if it were hot and burning Victor’s fingertips. To the other side stood Chris, who winked in Yuuri’s direction every time he made the mistake of looking at him.

The podium ceremony had been like nothing Yuuri had ever experienced. He had stood on podiums before, anyone who asked his parents would be shown proof of said activity, but he had never stood on one next to Victor Nikiforov. Making matters more bizarre were Victor’s fleeting touches, a tap to Yuuri’s shoulder to say congratulations, a dip of Victor’s head towards his with a whispered joke about the press, and Victor’s continuous light grazes and hushed apologies over Yuuri’s bandaged hand. Yuuri’s head was spinning from all of Victor’s attention and he needed to get away if he was going to have any chance of coming to his senses. As soon as they were released, Yuuri fled, hopping into his skate guards and moving quickly toward the locker room.

Sighing, Victor stepped down from the podium. All he wanted to do was continue the connection he had felt with Yuuri when they had landed together on the ice. Every touch had been self-indulgent, giving Victor a flash of sensation wherever their bodies grazed. He was chasing the high of that feeling, and groaned when he realized he may have scared Yuuri away. Ignoring Chris’s attempts to talk to him, Victor moved off of the padded walkway, mentally preparing himself for the monotonous task of interviews and after competition press.

* * *

 

The interview panel for the medaling three was quick and practically painless. Yuuri had let Victor and Chris do most of the talking, only responding when the questions were directed specifically toward him. A few times while talking, Yuuri had lost his words, noticing Victor’s smile trained on his face and stealing his ability to speak. He didn’t know what to make of Victor’s sudden attention, and he was caught between having a meltdown and screaming with joy.

Victor would never remember anything that was said during the press panel. He could recall the way Yuuri’s ears turned pink whenever he was asked a direct question and how Yuuri’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he talked. The sound of Yuuri’s accented English was a melodic rhythm and Victor found himself wishing that Yuuri could answer all of the questions. His fascination and attraction to the quiet skater was growing exponentially with every second following their joint tumble.

Being swarmed by reporters outside of the venue was never a surprise, and Victor found himself in a pleasant enough mood to stop and answer a few questions for those who hadn’t obtained press access. He was in the middle of answering a question about the meaning of his programs when Yuuri exited the glass doors, passing within touching distance of Victor. Without thinking, Victor reached out and snagged Yuuri’s arm, yanking Yuuri into the side of Victor’s body as he wound his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders.

“Have you seen Katsuki Yuuri skate? It is so beautiful, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him at practice and it lead to us crashing! Isn’t that hilarious?” Victor grinned at the paparazzi, blindly reaching down to lift Yuuri’s hand. “He even saved my head at the sacrifice of his hand. My hero!” The words were sincere as Victor spoke, finally angling his face to look at Yuuri’s. When the brown eyes met his own, Victor felt his words disappear. Faintly he heard himself muttering unflattering ums and uhs, but Victor couldn’t stop himself from getting lost again in Yuuri’s eyes.

Panic had gripped every muscle in Yuuri’s body from the moment Victor had yanked him into the press pile. As a rule Yuuri avoided the free-flowing paparazzi, as he did not like the unpredictable and aggressive nature of their questions. Every part of him was tense, screaming at him to run as his body burned where Victor was touching him. It was the third time in one day that Yuuri was experiencing unexpected contact with his famous idol, and he felt ready to spontaneously combust at any moment.

Then Victor had looked at him. Yuuri had looked up, only to try to silently signal Victor that he wanted to be released, but those blue eyes flashing with hope and excitement had made all of Yuuri’s brain cells short circuit. He had seen Victor look like that before, but it had been almost two years. The foolish part of his brain thought maybe it was Yuuri that was giving Victor that spark, the realistic part maliciously chiming in to tell him that Victor was probably loving the revived attention. Still, standing with Victor’s arm draped over his shoulder, their sides pressed together and Victor’s face a mere handful of inches away, Yuuri could think of nothing other than the sensation of having Victor so close.

“So, are you two an item now?”

The question interrupted the building moment between them. Victor laughed nervously, searching Yuuri’s eyes for any version of an opinion before turning to acknowledge the question himself. “Personal lives are personal for a reason, David,” Victor stated using his best PR voice. Squeezing Yuuri’s shoulders one more time, Victor regretfully released his grip and nodded toward the reporters. “That’s all the questions for today. I hope you will continue to support all of the competitors as the season continues.” Turning to ask Yuuri if he wanted to get something to eat before the banquet, Victor furrowed his brows at the empty space next to him. Over the heads of the gaggle of reporters, Victor watched Yuuri’s back retreat for a third time, wondering what he would need to do to convince Yuuri to stick around for longer than five minutes. Determined to brainstorm on that goal, Victor bid the press goodbye and followed Yakov toward their waiting cab.

* * *

 

Banquets were the necessary evil of the skating world. Yanking on his tie, Yuuri stood next to Celestino listening to another sponsor drone on about the perks of wool skating socks. He had plenty of sponsors and more than enough socks, and Yuuri could feel his patience and tolerance slipping with every passing second.

Victor bobbed on his feet as Yakov removed the champagne from his hand and replaced it with water. Glaring at his coach, Victor stubbornly plucked another flute from the tray of a passing waiter and downed it in one gulp. When Yakov rolled his eyes and walked away, Victor counted it as a win.

He didn’t like to drink excessively at banquets, but he had been turning his mind inside out in all the hours leading up to this one. Somehow he had to get Yuuri to notice him, but he had no idea how to effectuate it. Peering across the room, Victor saw Yuuri loosening his tie with a bored expression on his face and an idea spang to his mind. Snagging another flute of champagne, Victor chugged it before placing the glass on the closest table and striding across the room before he could change his mind.

“Care to dance?”

Yuuri heard the question posed near his left shoulder and turned to find Victor already inside of his personal bubble. His heart was not going to continue to survive all of these surprise appearances by Victor Nikiforov, and Yuuri swallowed hard to try to keep himself from saying something dumb. Without an excuse to say no to the offer, and the sock representative launching into another monologue about their product, Yuuri sighed and placed his hand in Victor’s.

It was alarming, really, how well they seemed to fit together. Yuuri had noticed during their unfortunate fall that their bodies had fallen into a natural position, slotted together and comfortably close. When Victor had thrown an arm over Yuuri’s shoulder outside of the arena, it had been impossible to ignore how easy it had been to lean into the embrace. Now, as they crossed the room heading for the dance floor, Yuuri’s heart drummed with the realization that their hands were also a match, perfectly aligned and maddeningly flawless in the way they intertwined. He had never touched anyone, not even his family, as much as he had touched Victor today, and he quickly wondered if he was losing his mind when he realized how much he liked it.

Feet crossing onto the makeshift dance floor, Victor tugged Yuuri to him, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s waist and curling their joined hands to rest against Victor’s chest. The urge to sigh overtook him as Yuuri gingerly lifted a hand to rest at the crook of Victor’s shoulder and neck. Even dancing their bodies felt made for each other and Victor could feel every part of him reacting to the sensation of having Yuuri close. Suppressing a groan as Yuuri’s leg slipped between his, Victor bit his bottom lip and studied Yuuri’s face. Not thinking, he lifted Yuuri’s injured hand to kiss the area being covered by the bandage. When Yuuri made a small squeaking noise, Victor knew he was a goner. “I’m sorry about your hand. And about crashing into you. I couldn’t stop myself, you looked so beautiful while skating.” Every word passed out of Victor’s lips as the haze of Yuuri’s closeness settled over his mind.

“No, it’s… it’s okay,” Yuuri muttered, barely able to concentrate with his chest pressed close to Victor’s and the lingering sensation of Victor’s lips on his hand. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m, um, glad you’re not hurt.” At some point, Yuuri was sure he had heard the music change to a more up-tempo beat, but Victor continued to move them in slow circles. Trying to get a grip on his thoughts, and put some distance between them, Yuuri slid his hand to Victor’s waist, flipping their joined hands and taking over the lead.

The first spin caught Victor off guard and he stumbled as he laughingly returned to Yuuri’s arms. The pressure of Yuuri’s palm on his hip told Victor where Yuuri wanted him to go, and he happily followed, losing himself in Yuuri’s lead. When the song came to its end and Yuuri leaned Victor into a dip, Victor wondered if this was what heaven felt like. It was completely unexpected and the single sexiest moment Victor had ever experienced.

Suddenly shy, Yuuri set Victor back on his feet, dropping his hands and stepping back. “I’m sorry, again… I didn’t mean to…” Yuuri wasn’t making any sense, but his thoughts had started spinning again and he wanted to escape before it got worse. Swirling with that thought was the forming memory of dancing with Victor, a memory that had easily claimed the top of Yuuri’s all-time greatest moments, even before it had ended. He wanted to run, but his heart wanted to stay, leaving Yuuri to stand with his hands flopping uselessly at his sides while he failed to string words together into coherent sentences.

Watching Yuuri, Victor saw his mood shift. Praying it wasn’t something he did, Victor reached forward, lightly touching Yuuri’s wrist before pulling his hand back. “I liked it,” he whispered, unsure if that was enough to reassure Yuuri. He couldn’t understand what had happened to change the feeling between them and he reached out again, the need to touch Yuuri becoming oddly more necessary with each passing moment. When he saw Yuuri flinch, Victor recoiled his hand trying to find the right question to ask. “Do you not like it when I touch you? I… I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable… I’m not usually like that with anyone but my dog,” Victor swept a nervous hand through his bangs, realizing they were standing still in the middle of the dance floor as he laughed through his own awkwardness.

“No, it’s not that,” Yuuri said, trying to define exactly what he wanted to say while his anxious brain screamed at him. “I like it, I’m just… surprised that I like it?” His statement came out as a question, accompanied with the all-encompassing blush on his cheeks and ears. Nervously he glanced up at Victor, anticipating rejection. What he found was a smile so open and warm that Yuuri could feel his heart melting in his chest. The Victor he knew through the press’s eyes was nothing compared to the sweet man standing before him. Yuuri wasn’t ready to let this Victor go, and he found himself reaching forward to squeeze Victor’s hand. “Want to get out of here?” The question felt like an out-of-body experience, and Yuuri found himself holding his breath waiting for Victor’s answer.

“I thought you would never ask,” Victor grinned, wrapping his fingers tighter into Yuuri’s and pulling him towards the banquet room doors.

Both of them were blissfully unaware of the amount of attention their joint exit received from everyone else in the room.

* * *

 

The smell of bacon crept into Yuuri’s nose as he slowly perceived the existence of sunlight and noise in his vicinity. Orienting himself before opening his eyes, he nuzzled his cheek into his pillow, wrapping his arms around it.

Only he wasn’t laying on a pillow. Under his cheek was the unmistakable press of a button and the beating of a heart that was not his. Cautiously, Yuuri opened one eye, rotating his head to discover the peacefully sleeping face of Victor Nikiforov.

Yuuri sat up bolt upright, finding himself tangled in Victor’s legs and still dressed in his dress shirt and pants from the banquet. They were sprawled on Yuuri’s apartment couch, where they had been most of the night, sipping tea and talking about any topic that came to mind. Other than Phichit and the people he had known his whole life, Yuuri had never talked to anyone the way he had talked to Victor. It was as if all the awkwardness had melted away with every step from the banquet hall to his apartment door, and they had talked until the sun had started peaking over the horizon.

He had no idea when they had fallen asleep, but once again, Yuuri found himself fit into Victor like matching puzzle pieces who had waited a lifetime to be connected. It was insane and absurd and so wonderful that Yuuri didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry.

A sound from the kitchen had Yuuri glancing over the back of the couch, making eye contact with Phichit as his best friend wiggled his eyebrows in Yuuri’s direction. Silently Phichit lifted a plate stacked with pancakes and one with bacon, making hand motions that clearly meant he was planning on trying to trade food for details. Food was Yuuri’s weakness and he glared at Phichit for using it against him.

“Good morning,” Victor yawned, stretching his arms above his head as he took in the adorable sight of Yuuri’s bed head. His dress shirt was rumpled and his glasses were askew on the bridge of his nose, and Victor briefly wondered if it would be ridiculous to ask Yuuri to marry him. He had never met anyone like Yuuri Katsuki and he could think of nothing he wanted more than to have him in his life forever. Smiling as he ran a hand through his hair, Victor shifted his hips, regretting it the moment he realized his was sporting an embarrassing case of morning wood. Knowing that he was lucky that he survived with only this problem, after Yuuri had snuggled in between his legs and made little sounds while falling asleep across Victor’s chest, he pressed a palm against himself, avoiding contact with Yuuri as he did so.

_Don’t look, don’t look_ , Yuuri chanted in his head. It was already embarrassing enough that he had fallen asleep on top of Victor, only to be discovered by Phichit in the morning, but he did not need to accidentally make eye contact with Victor’s currently prominent length. Gulping around the rising anxiety, Yuuri scooted back, unlacing himself from Victor’s legs and standing from the couch. “Um, good morning…” Yuuri fluttered his hands at his sides. “Phichit made breakfast.” He wasn’t sure what to do, so he continued to stand awkwardly at the foot of the couch.

Leaning up to look into the kitchen, Victor waved in Phichit’s direction. “Hi there, sorry to intrude!” His smile felt real for the first time in a long time and he turned his focus back to Yuuri. Dropping his legs from the couch, Victor continued to stretch, relieved when he saw a smile starting to creep back onto Yuuri’s face.

Somewhere under his feet Victor heard a phone vibrating. Bending forward he felt around on the ground until his fingers located his phone sticking out from under the couch. Unlocking it, Victor leapt to his feet when he looked at the time. “Forty seven missed calls,” he whispered, clearing out his notifications and beginning to chuckle to himself, “looks like Yakov switched our flights to tonight, seeing as I missed the first one.” Victor didn’t look up to see the horror on Yuuri’s face. He had never missed a flight before and he would offer to pay Yakov back for whatever the cost was to switch them, a small price to pay for a wonderful evening with the perfect man.

Opening the hotel app on his phone, he requested a late check out and hummed to himself as he adjusted his day. Usually he ran on a very tight schedule, but he currently didn’t feel like doing so. He was happy exactly where he was and had no intention of rushing his time there. Brow furrowing, he flicked the rest of the notification bar down and clicked on the one for Instagram. “Did you tag me in a picture?” Victor asked, glancing up at Yuuri and tilting his head at Yuuri’s gawking expression.

“I did!” Phichit called happily, placing the plates of food onto the small dining room table. “You two looked so cute I couldn’t resist. Besides, the hashtag Victuuri is already trending after yesterday so I wanted a piece of the fun. My picture is better than anything the paparazzi got.”

Phichit was blissfully unaware of the shockwaves he was causing in the living room. Victor was already examining the hashtag on Twitter while Yuuri had hesitantly unlocked his phone to decide to what level he needed to maim his roommate. When he saw the picture of himself and Victor, curled up on the couch looking far too comfortable to be platonic, Yuuri decided that murdering his best friend was the only appropriate level of harm that he could dish out. Squeezing his eyes shut, he took a deep breath and then clicked on the hashtag.

The press was having a field day. The puns alone were enough to make Yuuri want to run his phone over with a car. Apparently he and Victor were “falling for each other,” “falling on the ice or falling in love?” and one really creative IGer had put together all of the press pictures of them from the previous day with Dave Matthews’ Crash into Me playing as the backdrop. Yuuri felt the world crumbling under his feet as his vision began to blur. “I-”

“Well they aren’t wrong,” Victor chuckled, leaning forward to spontaneously peck a kiss to Yuuri’s cheek. He laughed harder when Phichit gave a scandalized gasp from his place at the table. “I mean at least on my end they aren’t. I don’t know about…” he trailed off, suddenly feeling insecure about Yuuri’s unwillingness to meet his eyes. Dropping his hand from where he had been absentmindedly drumming his fingers against Yuuri’s wrist, Victor felt the awkwardness settling back in.

“Not…” Yuuri stared at his feet, not believing the words he was about to say, “me either. Not wrong about me either, I mean.” It wasn’t as elegant or as casual as Victor’s declaration, but Yuuri found himself being pulled into a hug nonetheless. Smiling against Victor’s chest, Yuuri wrapped his arms around Victor’s waist and squeezed. The click of a camera had Yuuri groaning, turning his head to peer at his roommate without stepping out of Victor’s arms. “Don’t you dare, Phichit…” he warned, narrowing his eyes at his roommate. He felt Victor chuckle and looked up to meet Victor’s gaze.

“I can’t wait to see where this goes, Yuuri,” Victor grinned, hugging Yuuri a little closer to his chest.

“Holy shit,” was all Yuuri could come up with, as Victor chuckled again and Phichit howled with laughter as he pumped a victory fist in the air.


	2. Finding their way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their relationship builds and Victor makes an appearance at the Rostelecom Cup to cheer Yuuri on. 
> 
> Find the amazing art of [rikichie](https://rikichie.tumblr.com) [here](https://rikichie.tumblr.com/post/166865776932/so-these-are-some-of-the-arts-i-made-for)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out our other collaborations here:  
> Other works together:  
> [Expressions of Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11626041)  
> [Home is better with you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12182775)
> 
> Find us on Tumblr:  
> [rikichie](https://rikichie.tumblr.com)  
> [n3rdlif343va](https://n3rdlif343va.tumblr.com)

Over the years Yuuri had a lot of fantasies about Victor Nikiforov. He had imagined them meeting, Yuuri finally standing in the gold medal spot, peering down at Victor holding a silver medal and having Victor congratulate him on his victory. From there, Victor would fall madly in love with him and they would have sixteen dogs and buy a skating rink.

In another fantasy, Victor would see Yuuri perform at a competition and decide to ask Yuuri to join him in one of Victor’s famous ice shows. Working on the ice show together would obviously lead to them falling madly in love, adopting sixteen poodles, and buying an ice rink.

These were, of course, fantasies; a fun escape from reality whenever school or skating became too much for Yuuri’s brain to handle. In the same way that dance, in any variety, was a vehicle away from reality, fantasizing about a future with his idol was a way to let reality slip away for a little while.

In none of Yuuri’s time spent fantasizing had he ever dreamt that one day he would crash into his idol, get stitches in his hand, win a silver medal, and somehow gain his idol as his boyfriend all in one spectacularly bizarre turn of events. Yet, this is exactly what had happened.

Victor Nikiforov, Russia’s living legend, skating’s beloved playboy, was currently chattering away on the other side of Skype, Makkachin draped over his lap as he described the chaos of the Russian skating team to Yuuri’s laughing amusement. It had been three weeks since they had collided on the ice, and nearly two weeks since Yuuri had stopped freaking out every time the tabloids printed their pictures. They had spent every day since exchanging texts and talking on Skype whenever possible.

The world still felt surreal, like Yuuri was living in a dream that he was stubbornly not waking up from. It had started with a physical fall, and continued with the emotional fall Yuuri was experiencing every day. He had already fallen hard for Victor as his idol, but before Yuuri had hugged Victor goodbye outside of the Detroit airport he had already begun falling for Victor the man.

The silly, ridiculous man who sometimes used a weirdly accented voice to talk on behalf of his fluffy poodle, and who had a tendency to carry his computer around his apartment while on Skype. He insisted on staying up to ungodly hours and refused to hang up calls first, even when his head was bobbing forward from the lure sleep. Victor also made a point to wake up early on Yuuri’s off days, knowing that Yuuri would stay up later than normal and they would have more time to talk. Yuuri had voiced concern about Victor’s lack of sleep, to which Victor had sent a number of emojis with raised eyebrows, making Yuuri laugh. Everything Victor did was absurdly cute, and Yuuri had given up hope on ever getting his heart back.

Currently, Victor was telling a story about a fight that had interrupted practice the day before. From what Yuuri could follow, Victor’s tendency to flip flop between English and Russian when excited making it slightly hard to keep up with his story, Georgi Popovich and his girlfriend Anya had decided that breaking up in the middle of the rink was a good move. Well, according to Victor’s telling Anya had decided on the break up, and Georgi had decided on the wailing. Victor had finished the story and was explaining that they would be back together before the end of the week when Yuuri stifled a yawn behind his hand.

Victor felt himself swoon at the sight of Yuuri’s crinkled nose and the sound of the little squeak that always accompanied Yuuri’s yawn. It made Victor want to crawl through the computer screen and pull Yuuri into his arms for a proper night’s rest. Their short hours curled together on Yuuri’s painful excuse for a sofa had been the best sleep Victor had gotten in years, and the desire to join Yuuri for cuddles was painful in his chest as he watched his boyfriend stretch out across the bed.

 _Boyfriend_ , Victor thought with a smile, quietly listening as Yuuri told a story about Phichit’s gaggle of admirers who were apparently a source of amusement for Yuuri and a source of free meals for Phichit. Yuuri’s stories were never as animated as Victor’s, but he absorbed every word, loving every piece of life that Yuuri was willing to share with him. Presently, Yuuri was leaning back on his pillow, words sleepily tumbling from his mouth as he began to doze with his glasses still perched on his nose. Victor was absolutely positive there was no more adorable sight than a sleepy Yuuri Katsuki.

Their official relationship status had been decided outside of the Detroit airport, in the back of a stuffy cab while Yakov impatiently tapped his foot on the dirty sidewalk. It had been Victor who asked, taking both of Yuuri’s hands in his own and practically pleading for Yuuri to take a chance on them. It had been twenty-four hours since they had crashed into each other’s lives, but Victor could feel how right they were for each other. Yuuri had accepted his request to build their relationship despite the distance and Victor had boldly planted a kiss to the middle of Yuuri’s forehead before slipping from the cab and into the web of negativity spun by the always upbeat soul of his coach. Even as Yakov had screamed at him to hurry up, Victor had stood, waving his hand in the air until Yuuri’s cab was out of sight.

The first time Yuuri sent him a text, the words appearing on Victor’s phone as soon as he had turned it on in Russia, he had felt a rush of pleasure which had brought a flush to his cheeks. He wasn’t used to anyone checking in on him, and Victor had nearly dropped his phone while trying to type his response with shaking hands. Yuuri Katsuki was as kind as he was handsome, and Victor was convinced that somewhere he had a guardian angel who was very, very good at his job.

Every conversation from that point on had flowed easier than Victor could have imagined. They always had stories to tell each other and questions to ask, and Victor no longer found the notification sounds on his phone to be annoying. Now Yuuri had his own sounds, and Victor’s face broke into a smile every single time he heard them.

The only problem Victor could see was how much he missed Yuuri. On the days when they couldn’t squeeze in a video chat, Victor found himself longing for Yuuri’s voice and the sound of his laugh. In the few short weeks that Yuuri had been a part of his life, he had become so significant that Victor couldn’t imagine a life before Yuuri. It had certainly been more dull and less full meaning, and Victor spoke these observations out loud as Yuuri smiled at him from across the world.

Yuuri was highlighted by the dim light of his bedside lamp, the shadows casting lines over Yuuri’s faded t-shirt as Yuuri fidgeted with the fraying hem. Victor found himself wishing he was lying in the bed beside Yuuri, and that it was his fingers tracing the line of Yuuri’s t-shirt. He wanted to hug Yuuri so badly that it felt like a physical ache, and that raw need had him impulsively suggesting an idea he had been toying with for almost a week.

“Yuuri…?” Victor asked, watching as Yuuri shifted to have a better view of the screen. A quick swipe of Yuuri’s tongue over his bottom lip almost made Victor whine, and he forced himself to continue his thought. “What if I came to watch you at the Rostelecom Cup?” Anxiously, Victor held his breath waiting for Yuuri’s response.

His sleepy brain immediately jolted awake at Victor’s offer. Scrambling into a sitting position, Yuuri yanked his laptop into his folded legs and grinned into the screen. “Really? You could do that? Wouldn’t Yakov kill you?” Yuuri bit back his smile as Victor laughed on the other end of the call.

“Yakov threatens to kill me twice a day, but he won’t ever do it,” Victor continued to chuckle, running his hand over Makka’s head as she sprawled over his lap. “I mean who would off their meal ticket?”

Those comments, little digs at what Victor thought he was worth in Yakov’s eyes had been cropping up more often in their conversations. Yuuri could see the flash of sadness in Victor’s eyes, but he hadn’t pushed the subject. Nor had he pushed Victor to discuss his skating, the one topic Yuuri had hoped to fanboy over and the one topic Victor seemed keen to avoid. Not wanting to rock the boat so early in their relationship, Yuuri had let both the subject of skating and Yakov go, vowing to himself to explore the issues more closely once they had been together longer. Seeing Victor raise a questioning eyebrow, Yuuri let a giggle escape him at Victor’s impatient wiggle. “I would love it… if you came…” picking at a thread on his sock, Yuuri froze when he realized that he let his sentence dangle on a potential innuendo. Glancing up at Victor through the flop of his hair, Yuuri discovered his boyfriend’s cheeks covered in a blush of red and Victor’s mouth nervously opening and closing. Trying to clarify his meaning, Yuuri waved his hands in the air. “I mean! I would love if you came to watch the competition! You know that, right? Not the other thing…. Even though… you know… that’s not bad either.” Eyes going wide, Yuuri slapped a hand over his mouth as he watched Victor burst into laughter.

 _Who let Yuuri be this cute?_ Victor shouted into his own head, eyes taking in the sight of Yuuri’s bright red cheeks hiding behind the mask of his hands. Carefully, Victor reached forward and snapped a screenshot. “It is settled then, yes?” Trying to put the conversation back on track, Victor looped back to his original question. As Yuuri slowly lowered his hands, confirming his answer with a nod, Victor threw both hands in the air, whooping in celebration. Yuuri’s giggle once again floated through Victor’s computer speakers, and Victor grinned with his own excitement.

The countdown was officially started. In a week, Victor would finally get to see Yuuri in person, have a chance to hold him again and this time, Victor was going to do the one thing he hadn’t been brave enough to do in Detroit. He was going to kiss Yuuri Katsuki.

* * *

 

Somehow Yuuri, in all of his excitement, had failed to anticipate the media frenzy that Victor’s presence would cause. It was their first time being seen together since the competition in Detroit, and it seemed that every person holding a camera was collectively losing their minds. Following the adventurous twenty-four hours in Detroit, every sports reporter was out to get the scoop on skating’s potential new couple.

The flashing of bulbs was giving Yuuri a headache, and he watched as Ciao Ciao moved toward the camera-holding vultures, the stern look causing a few of them to panic and run in the opposite direction. Celestino was soft and caring, more so than most of the figure skating coaches, but when he needed to be intimidating, he could scare the pants off of Stalin. Chuckling to himself, Yuuri peeked up cautiously to see Victor grinning down at him.

“Your coach seems like a good man,” Victor nodded in Celestino’s direction, “are you a good fit?” He had noticed that Yuuri had been sending more videos of his routines in the recent week and Victor had attended the morning practice at the specific request of Yuuri. Afterwards, over a meal that boringly adhered to all of their meal plan restrictions, Yuuri had eagerly asked Victor for his input on Yuuri’s skating.

The questions had left Victor with a sense that Yuuri wasn’t completely fulfilled by his relationship with his coach. It was obvious that Yuuri respected Celestino and the Celestino had a unique understanding of Yuuri, but still there seemed to be something lacking between them. Victor wasn’t always happy with Yakov’s coaching style, but he would never argue that Yakov’s stubborn, demanding ways were the necessary motivational tools needed to ensure Victor’s success. If something was missing for Yuuri, Victor was happy to fill in the missing pieces, realizing over the week how much he enjoyed giving his analysis and suggestions. Yuuri had looked so eager every time Victor had given his critiques, and Victor had never felt so needed in all of his life. Realizing Yuuri hadn’t answered his question, Victor nudged at his side with his elbow, unable to temper his smile when Yuuri reacted with a ticklish giggle.

“Celestino is a very good coach,” Yuuri responded, knowing that had they been alone without prying ears around them that his answer would have been more detailed. Hopefully once he survived his free program, Yuuri would get the chance to explain. Tilting his head up to look at Victor again, Yuuri couldn’t help but notice the way Victor’s eyes flicked over his lips. Feeling a tingle crawling over his skin, Yuuri fought the urge to close the distance between them, saved from his own wavering desire by the shout of his name from the side of the rink. “I guess, I’m on deck,” he shrugged at Victor, still unable to tear his eyes away from their treacherous path between Victor’s blue eyes and his glossy lips. Losing his train of thought, Yuuri found himself wondering what Victor’s lips would feel like, subconsciously lifting a hand toward Victor’s cheek.

Victor’s brain was screaming as Yuuri tilted his head toward Victor. He couldn’t believe that after all his worrying about the right time to kiss Yuuri that it was going to happen, standing on the side of the rink as the unknown Canadian skater made his obnoxiously flamboyant way across the ice. Giving in to the want that had taken over his mind since the moment he had reentered Yuuri’s presence, Victor bent his head to begin to meet Yuuri halfway.

“Yuuri!”

Celestino’s voice made Yuuri startle, causing him to stumble backwards away from Victor. Sheepishly, Yuuri peered around Victor’s shoulder, discovering Celestino’s disapproving look being leveled in his direction. Sighing, Yuuri reached out to lightly squeeze Victor’s hand, moving around him to follow his coach’s footsteps. His mind burned with the knowledge of what he had almost done, and Yuuri knew that no matter what, before he let Victor leave that night to return to St. Petersburg, he was going to go through with it.

* * *

 

 _Silver again_ , Yuuri huffed, pulling the medal from around his neck and shoving it onto the bench in front of him. The locker room was empty and he was trying to move quickly to change from his costume to his team warmup suit prior to the start of the press panel. Outside somewhere Victor was being guarded by Celestino, and Yuuri knew the faster the panel moved, the sooner he would get to be back by Victor’s side.

Although it had been foolish to think that Victor would have been able to spend the entire three days of competition with him, the fantasizing part of Yuuri’s brain had once again been imagining nights of endless cuddles and mornings waking up in each other’s arms. He would absolutely not admit that he had been dreaming of kissing Victor, even though that was exactly what he had been dreaming about from the first night that Victor had mentioned his proposed presence at the Rostelecom Cup.

Instead of his fantasy three days, Victor had arrived the morning of the free program declaring his intention to spend every moment by Yuuri’s side until he had to leave at ten o’clock that night. For all of his posturing about not being afraid of Yakov, Victor had booked a set of tickets that encompassed all of Victor’s free day hours. He planned to sleep on the train ride back, a fact that he happily explained to Yuuri as they hid in the hallway, wrapped into each other’s arms and pretending they didn’t need to let go.

The plan was crazy and Victor was insane for making the trip, but Yuuri couldn’t help the giddy excitement that was bubbling inside of him. Victor was there, and would be there for all the remaining hours of the day. Snatching his bag from the bench, Yuuri made his way into the hallway, immediately being forced toward the interview and onto the platform with the other medalists.

He must have been more distracted than he realized. Chris and Jean-Jacques Leroy were already firing answers back across the sea of eager reporter faces as Yuuri slid into his seat. Eyes scanning the room, he couldn’t help the smile on his face as he spied Victor, standing next to Celestino. He let out an embarrassed giggle when Victor held up his hands in the shape of a heart, and immediately regretted it when he saw several reporters twist in their seats to follow the path of Yuuri’s eyes.

“Yuuri Katsuki!” A man shouted, hand shooting in the air, with a blue pen waving excitedly, “can you tell us more about your relationship with Victor Nikiforov?”

Yuuri tried to keep the blush from rising on his face, but Victor winked at him from his place at the back of the room and Yuuri’s heart couldn’t take it. He opened his mouth to speak, when Christophe interrupted him.

“Honestly, Darren, don’t you think that question is a bit rude?” Chris asked in his patented drawl and rested his hand on his chin. “I have an adorable cat, and JJ here has a lovely girlfriend. If you are going to ask Yuuri about his personal life, I expect you to also ask my questions about my furbaby.” The entire room laughed as the reporter sank back into his chair. “I didn’t think so, but I will forgive you because you are cute.” Chris winked shamelessly at the reporter, making the man blush for a second time. “Now can we get back to skating please?”

When Chris smiled down at the table at Yuuri, he nodded his gratitude and laughed when Chris winked at him. Looking back at Victor, Yuuri continued to smile, completing the press conference with less stress than he had ever experienced before.

* * *

 

The restaurant had been crowded, and their booth table had been barely able to hold all of the food dishes that were set down between them. Victor had declared their reunion an excuse to forget diet plans, and Yuuri had gone along with the idea, only flinching slightly about how much running he would have to do to make up for the calories.

Underneath the table where no one could see, their knees were pressed together in an attempt to spend as much time touching as possible. On top of the table, their hands were constantly sneaking across the dark wood to play with each other’s fingers and tap beats on the back of each other’s wrists.

Yuuri couldn’t remember a time that he had ever felt this happy. A second silver medal in the grand pix series was nothing to frown about, but Victor’s proximity and the way his face brightened every time Yuuri said his name, was making Yuuri feel like he was floating. Reaching across the table again, Yuuri linked his fingers with Victor’s, watching as the light danced in Victor’s eyes.

There had been a fear in Yuuri, ingrained in the part of him that tended to lose his words when he was nervous and completely break down when overwhelmed, that it wouldn’t be easy to talk to Victor once they were together. He had obsessed on the idea, driving himself into the edges of a panic attack on the night before his flight. Phichit had seen him through it, describing ridiculous ways that Victor would greet Yuuri until Yuuri had found laughter instead of panic. Phichit always knew what to say, even when his methods of distraction were completely unorthodox.

His mild obsession with kissing Victor had started during that conversation. If he was honest with himself, his mild obsession with kissing Victor had been revived during that conversation. There were some years during his late teens that made him eternally grateful that posters couldn’t talk. Resting on that thought for a little too long, he startled when Victor squeezed his hand.

“Where’d you go, my Yuuri?” Victor had watched the thoughts playing over Yuuri’s face, marveling at the pinch between Yuuri’s brow and the way his mouth moved when he was deep in thought. Now, he watched as the blush once again appeared on Yuuri’s cheeks, and Victor knew it was a direct result of saying Yuuri was his. It was Victor’s favorite way to refer to Yuuri, one that he used in his own rink to distinguish between his beautiful ball of sunshine and the irritating raging ball of teenager on the Russian juniors team.

“Got lost in my thoughts for a minute,” Yuuri admitted, anxiously running his thumb over the back of Victor’s hand, “I’m back now.” Smiling softly at Victor, Yuuri loved how Victor’s face softened into understanding.

“When I get lost in my thoughts, I talk to Makkachin,” Victor dropped his eyes, unsure of Yuuri’s reaction. Over the weeks that they had talked, Victor had let his press image fall away. If he was honest with himself, that image had never fit him and for the first time he was happy to be rid of it. Yuuri had knocked his mask free, and even if it was only with Yuuri, it felt like Victor was finally finding himself again.

“You are lucky to have each other,” Yuuri noted, seeing the smile turn brighter on Victor’s face. Yuuri had heard the story of Makkachin during their first phone call, happily sharing pictures of Vicchan with Victor which lead to a discussion on how much they missed their respective pets. Victor’s guilt over not spending enough time with Makkachin had echoed Yuuri’s own for leaving Vicchan behind in Hasetsu. Even though it had been their first Skype conversation, Yuuri had told Victor about thoughts that he had never shared with anyone, and he had ended the conversation with the overwhelming fear that he had scared Victor away.

He hadn’t though, and the next day when his phone rang, Victor’s icon popping up surrounded in bright blue, Yuuri had felt an emotion close to security. Sitting across the table now, Yuuri had that same sense, a sense that he was safe with Victor. It made his heart flutter in his chest as he pulled Victor’s hand to his lips.

Victor was a strong man, but Yuuri made him feel weak in the knees. As Yuuri’s lips lingered lightly on Victor’s knuckles, mimicking Victor’s kisses to Yuuri’s hands in Detroit, he felt the breath shorten in his chest. Every conversation made him fall for Yuuri a little more, and being with him now was sealing Victor’s fate as a man in love. He was in love with Yuuri, in a way that he had never thought he could feel, and he had absolutely no idea how to handle it.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

Both of them jumped as the obnoxious sound of an alarm clashed with the softness of their moment. With a frown, Victor pulled his phone from his pocket and glared at his screen. Despite his best efforts to master the art of freezing time, it had sped away from them, leaving Victor with less than an hour to catch his train. Whining under his breath, and seeing the disappointed pout of Yuuri’s lip, Victor silenced his alarm and replaced his phone in his lapel pocket.

The bill had been paid almost an hour ago and Victor had foolishly convinced himself that they still had more time. Standing from the booth, he offered his hand to Yuuri, pulling him up so they could walk from the restaurant.

* * *

 

“Thank you for coming to watch me,” Yuuri shuffled his feet, both of his hands in Victor’s as his nerves made it impossible for him to look up. “Without you I don’t think I would have made the podium, your suggestions were perfect.” Finally, bracing himself for the intensity of Victor’s blue eyes, Yuuri lifted his gaze.

It was impossible for Yuuri to know how much his words meant, as Victor couldn’t possibly find the words to describe it. Letting one of Yuuri’s hands drop, Victor nervously trailed his fingers over Yuuri’s cheek, wondering how kissing Yuuri could possibly be scarier than the month he spent trying to land a quint flip. Breath coming in short puffs, Victor pulled himself together and said, “You mean so much to me, Yuuri, thank you for trusting me. Thank you for needing me.”

The last sentence broke Yuuri’s heart, knowing that while he had grown to know Victor, there was still so much to learn, including whatever caused the little flashes of pain in Victor’s eyes. Of course he needed Victor, in a way that he had never needed anyone before. Having no idea how to express this, Yuuri slid his free hand up Victor’s chest, curling his fingers gently at the nape of Victor’s neck and pulling him in.

Weeks had passed with Victor imaging this exact moment, the moment when he would finally be brave enough to fulfill his desire. He had imagined a walk on the beach with the sunset in the background, or maybe a gentle kiss under falling leaves. He had not once, not in the hours he had spent drafting scenarios in his mind, believed he would be kissing Yuuri in front of the dirty doors of a train station.

Yet, in so many ways this moment was better than Victor had imagined. Yuuri had reached out first, giving Victor the unquestionable sign that Yuuri wanted this too. As he squeezed Yuuri’s hand, shifting on his feet to change his angle and wrapping his free hand around Yuuri’s waist, Victor felt like his whole world was changing.

The kiss wasn’t perfect, when they shifted Yuuri had kissed more of Victor’s bottom lip than his top and their noses brushed as they rotated, taking the kiss a little deeper than was polite for public. Yuuri found himself not caring, greedily threading his fingers into the hair at the back of Victor’s neck. Later, at home in his apartment, he might be embarrassed by the openly pubic affection, but right now, pressed against Victor, he wanted nothing more than to never let go.

A screeching voice over a rattling speaker announced the boarding of Victor’s train. Breaking apart, Victor whined, dropping his forehead to rest on Yuuri’s. “Don’t make me go,” he whimpered, letting his nose brush against Yuuri’s as he wrapped both of his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders.

“Don’t go,” Yuuri whispered, knowing that it wasn’t an option, but wanting to say it anyway. It was far harder to let Victor walk away this time, much harder than it had been in Detroit when there were so many things that Yuuri had still be unsure about. This time, the only thing Yuuri didn’t know was how he was going to survive without Victor near him until December.

Victor was the one who stepped away, pressing one final kiss to Yuuri’s forehead before solemnly turning toward the door. Yuuri spun on his heel, wanting to get back to his hotel and let his sadness take over in private. He made it three steps down the sidewalk before he was pulled back, hands cupping his face and Victor’s lips pressing back against his.

In his surprise it took Yuuri a second to respond to the kiss, letting Victor’s mind panic that maybe Yuuri had already changed his mind. When Yuuri sighed, bringing his hands to hold Victor’s waist and responding in equally hungry fashion, Victor let the happiness explode inside him like fireworks. Indulging himself for as long as possible, Victor only pulled away as the scratchy voice called for last boarding. Still holding Yuuri’s face, Victor kissed his nose, his forehead, and both cheeks before finally releasing the laughing Yuuri from his hold. “I forgot to say goodbye,” Victor grinned, stealing one more kiss from Yuuri’s lips before turning to sprint toward the dingy glass doors. Throwing a look over his shoulder, Victor winked, disappearing into the train station.

“See you soon, Victor,” Yuuri whispered, trying to contain his smile as he raised his hand to hail a cab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta survives all tirades regarding the past, and passed, and cups whose names are made of evil letter combinations that I can never get right... all the love for [atelerixe](https://atelerixe.tumblr.com)
> 
> If you like this story and want to check out my other full-length works, you can find them here:  
> [Be My Chef, Yuuri (complete)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10102205/chapters/22504352)  
> [Law Firm of Katsuki, Nikiforov, and Chulanont](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11084109/chapters/24724854)  
> [When Sarcasm Meets Optimism](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11844675/chapters/26739171)  
> [Katsuki’s Pet Needs](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11403003/chapters/25540758)


	3. The Ups and The Downs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yakov's wrath over Victor traveling to Moscow leaves Victor exhausted and ready to share some of his most secret hesitations with Yuuri. In turn, Yuuri makes his own surprise visit to the NHK to support Victor. 
> 
> There is a small explicit scene in this chapter only. If you want to skip it, stop reading at the paragraph that starts with "Yes," and pick back up at the paragraph that starts with "Today was the last day of competition." The explicit scene is mild, however, if you have invested in this story and do not like this type of content, you will not miss or ruin any of the story by skipping it. 
> 
> Beautiful art for this fic by [rikichie](https://rikichie.tumblr.com) and can be found [here](https://rikichie.tumblr.com/post/166865776932/so-these-are-some-of-the-arts-i-made-for)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find us both on Tumblr:  
> [rikichie](https://rikichie.tumblr.com)  
> [n3rdlif343va](https://n3rdlif343va.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> And if you are interested in our other collabs, please check them out here:  
> [Expressions of Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11626041)  
> [Home is better with you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12182775)

“Yuuri is a mess,” Phichit was on the other end of the Skype call, having followed orders to answer if Victor called while Yuuri was in the shower. It had been three days since the Rostelecom Cup and ever since Yakov had found out about Victor’s spontaneous trip (through the unfortunate number of pictures published of Victor and Yuuri together), he had been working Victor to the point of severe physical exhaustion.

Victor had called three times, messing up the calculations on the time zones due to his fatigue and calling when Yuuri was in class and at practice. On the third time, he had hung up the phone and cried himself to sleep. Skating no longer held the same joy it once had, a realization Victor had come to long before this season had started, so the longer hours and extra practice felt even more laden with bitterness. He had considered retiring at the beginning of the season, before having his spark for the sport reignited through Yuuri’s enthusiasm, but now Yakov was stamping it out with the worn out leather of his ugly non-designer shoes.

The sun had disappeared from the sky, being replaced by a moon that was far too bright for Victor’s liking. His head hurt, his body ached, and he was missing his Yuuri. The restless two hours spent tossing in bed lead him to reach for his laptop, yanking it open and slamming down the keys to log into his Skype account. He didn’t bother to calculate the time differences, blindly praying that Yuuri would magically answer.

A different face filled the screen, the master of pancakes and lover of hamsters that Victor had met the first morning in Yuuri’s apartment. He had seen Phichit Chulanont practice, through the screen of Yuuri’s phone and had agreed with Yuuri’s analysis that Phichit would be a force to be reckoned with in the next season. There was a brightness to Phichit’s entire being, which Victor normally admired, but it made him groan when the face on the other end of the screen wasn’t Yuuri.

“It looks like you are a mess too,” Phichit teased, one eyebrow raised as he examined Victor through the screen. “Maybe you two should switch your home rinks, if three days apart is going to shatter your worlds like this.”

“Phichit!”

Victor watched with alarm as Phichit toppled backwards out of the desk chair, leaning forward as if he could get a better angle on the wrestling match that he could hear but not see.

“Don’t tell him that!” Yuuri scoffed, shoving a laughing Phichit away from him on the carpet. His roommate and best friends always had the best intentions, at least Yuuri tried to believe he did.

“He has a right to know that he has wrecked you, my friend,” Phichit cackled, springing to his feet and running as Yuuri attempted to kick him. A “bye Victor!” flew over his fleeing shoulder as Yuuri rose to swiftly shut and lock the bedroom. By the time he picked up his desk chair and sat down, Victor was looking smug on his end of the screen.

“Wrecked you?” Victor asked, unable to stop himself from making Yuuri blush. The last three days had been torture on his body and heart, and Victor wanted nothing more than to spend some time staring at the face of his beautiful boyfriend.

“Ehhhh….” Yuuri mumbled, lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “I may have been a little distracted at practice today.” Lowering his arm he heard Victor gasp. Cursing the loose cuff of his favorite sweatshirt, Yuuri sighed and lifted his wrist properly into view.

The bruise extended from the bottom of Yuuri’s pinky finger down the side of his hand and over his wrist. It was a washed out yellow and purple, severe looking in the simple light of Yuuri’s desk lamp. Pressing two fingers to his lips, Victor then pressed them to the screen, smiling when he saw Yuuri blush again. “Better?” He knew that kisses didn’t work that way, but hearing Yuuri’s giggle made his silliness worthwhile.

“Yes, thank you, the x-ray showed nothing broken, and I got a scolding for not falling properly,” Yuuri rolled his eyes, the affection for Victor still highlighting his face. “How about you? Are you okay?” He scooted closer to the screen, pushing his glasses up on his nose to carefully examine Victor’s face. There were dark circles under Yuuri’s favorite blue eyes, and Victor’s color was lacking in warmth. The smile on his face was genuine, but it looked tired and didn’t quite reach Victor’s eyes.

“I’m fine,” Victor gave his standard answer, the same one he had given Georgi and Mila when they had cornered him at the rink. They shared Yakov as a coach, so they had the best idea of what was happening. Still Victor had lied, flipping his hand in the air and declaring that it was his lack of time with Yuuri that was getting him down and that he had experienced far worse from Yakov in year’s past. He hadn’t, but they were satisfied with the answer and had left him alone. Yuuri on the other hand was looking at him with narrowed eyes.

“Bullshit,” Yuuri stated, continuing to sit close to his screen making his face larger than normal in Victor’s, “if you don’t want to talk about it, I respect that, but don’t tell me you’re fine.” Sitting back, Yuuri crossed his arms over his chest, wincing at the pressure on his wrist. Celestino had jokingly nicknamed it the year of the hand, a reference to Yuuri’s second injury to the same hand within weeks. Last year had been the year of the elbow and Yuuri didn’t even want to think of the year of the butt. Holding his gaze steady, he waited for Victor to respond.

“Skating isn’t…” Victor choked on his words. Yuuri loved skating, even when he was making mistakes and falling on his ass, Yuuri still loved to skate. Victor, however, had lost that love, only feeling it when he was discussing the potential improvements to Yuuri’s routine as a group effort. The ice had lost its appeal to him, stolen away by the hands of expectations and obligations.

“Fun anymore?” Normally, Yuuri would have sat quietly, waiting for Victor to find his words. In the same way that Yuuri struggled to express himself outside of his native tongue when upset or excited, Victor sometimes couldn’t put his more emotional thoughts into English. Understanding this, and seeing the emotional war raging through Victor, Yuuri took the chance.

Hanging his head, Victor sighed. “Yeah, I guess. But it is when I am working with you, or watching you skate. You make me remember why I loved it, but not enough for me to want to do it.” He kept his eyes averted from the screen. Yuuri had spent several weeks with his laptop carefully angled to avoid showing his walls, but as they had grown more comfortable together, the cautious behavior had lessened. The first time Victor had seen the wall behind Yuuri’s bed he had nearly had a heart attack.

Knowing Yuuri was a fan was crippling his ability to be honest about his feelings, and he continued to look at his fingers instead of at Yuuri. He didn’t want to disappoint Yuuri, he didn’t want Yuuri to give up on him because Victor wasn’t the man Yuuri wanted him to be.

“Then why are you still doing it?” It took Yuuri a few seconds to decide how to ask this question. He had long admired Victor for the way Victor seemed to love what he did, but Yuuri wanted Victor to be happy. Not seeing Victor on the ice would be crushing, a thought that Yuuri dutifully kept to himself knowing that Victor’s happiness meant more than Yuuri’s childish idolism.

Seven words had completely rocked Victor’s world. Yuuri hadn’t been upset or accusatory, he simply put the option on the table, presenting it to Victor as an open-ended question. Victor had never considered himself worthy outside of skating, but Yuuri’s inquisitive face and softly prodding question made him pause. Why was he still doing something that was becoming such a struggle? Shrugging his shoulders, Victor gave the only answer he had. “I am skating, Yuuri, that’s what I am.”

Yuuri’s heart shattered in his chest. Glancing up, eyes roaming over the collection of posters of the man who was now so much more than an abstract inspiration, Yuuri felt his guilt pouring over the pieces of his heart. Never in the time that he had been following Victor had he considered the way being an idol, a living legend, and an assumed playboy would make Victor feel. Pushing back his tears, he lowered his eyes again, finding Victor buried in the back of Makkachin’s neck. “You’re wrong, you know,” Yuuri saw Victor shake his head and pushed on, “Victor, you are a wonderful person. Caring, thoughtful, creative. You are supportive of other skaters, even if you can’t remember JJ’s name,” taking a breath, Yuuri smiled when Victor chuckled, “you are Makkachin’s daddy, and the love of my life, an incessant bookworm, witty, and smart, and a million other things that have nothing to do with skating. Skating was blessed with your talent, yes, but you are so much more than that.” Finishing his little tirade, Yuuri flopped back in his chair, only then realizing Victor had gone wide-eyed and silent. Fearing that he had said too much, Yuuri concentrated on the fraying end of his sweatshirt, only humming when Victor quietly said his name.

“Love of your life?” To be fair, Victor had heard everything Yuuri had said, and every word was busy being engraved on his permanent memory. He needed confirmation of this though, the one piece that Victor knew was true for him as well. Skating wasn’t the love of Victor’s life anymore, Yuuri was, and he was positively buzzing with the thought that it was reciprocal.

 _Oh no_ , Yuuri moaned internally, quickly reviewing his little speech and realizing that he had thrown that confession out into the open. It wasn’t that it wasn’t true, but he was going to guard those feelings carefully in case Victor didn’t feel the same. Nodding slowly, Yuuri dared to look up at the screen.

“Me too,” Victor said, and then shook his head, “I mean, you too?” That didn’t sound right either and Victor grabbed Makkachin’s face, “Help me Makka, Yuuri loves me and I can’t straighten out my words!”

Yuuri began to giggle as Makkachin licked Victor’s face and he mumbled about her not being helpful. Relief was trickling in, seeing the heart shape of Victor’s smile as he continued to scold his pup for not helping him to declare his love. By the time Victor returned his attention to Yuuri, Yuuri was folded over in his desk chair, a laughing jumble of pure happiness and joy.

“Hey,” Victor said, pretending to tap the screen, “you… are… the… love… of… my… life.” He had used bizarre waves of his hands to try to add inaccurate sign language to this declaration, making Yuuri laugh harder. Every ounce of heaviness and sorrow had been whisked away, all because Yuuri saw him as more. More than the man with a collection of gold medals, more than a legend, more than tabloid subject matter. Yuuri saw pieces of Victor that Victor wasn’t even sure were there, but if Yuuri believed them then Victor wanted to believe them too. Smiling, tears threatening to spill from his eyes, Victor met Yuuri’s gaze across the screen. “Thank you, Yuuri,” Victor whispered, hugging Makkachin to his chest.

“Anytime, Victor,” Yuuri winked, copying Victor’s signature move and causing Victor to burst out laughing. The sound of Victor’s laugh, boisterous and real, made Yuuri’s heart sing with relief.

When they signed off thirty minutes later, Victor fell instantly asleep, comforted by the loving existence of his wonderful Yuuri. In Detroit, however, Yuuri yanked Phichit on the couch to scream and analyze his conversation with Victor. He was going to find a way to help Victor find himself outside of skating, if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

 

“KATSUKI!”

Yuuri responded to Celestino’s shout by promptly falling on his butt. The female ice skater who had been stalking Yuuri’s life for the better part of the year, swept by him offering to kiss it better. Yuuri had to avoid falling again when Phichit responded by yelling that it was Victor Nikiforov’s job to kiss Yuuri’s ass. Punching Phichit as Yuuri arrived on the side of the rink, he instantly became wary of the conspiring looks between his coach and his best friend.

“Katuski, here,” Celestino slapped a folded piece of paper into Yuuri’s hand and leaned back with his hands on his hips. His coach rarely called Yuuri by his last name, and it had Yuuri immediately on edge as he began to unfold the sheets of paper.

“It’s a plane ticket!” Phichit announced, nudging Celestino in a friendlier way than any other skater would dare to do. His best friend was confident in a way that Yuuri only wished he could be, and he was distracted from the papers in his hand as he looked up to smile at Phichit’s expectant face. “UGH! Yuuri!” Phichit threw his hands in the air and tapped the paper, “don’t look at me, look at the **_plane ticket_** ,” purposely dragging out the last two words. Phichit sounded like he was going to throttle Yuuri if he didn’t clue in soon.

Pointing a finger to his face, Yuuri silently indicated that his glasses were not on the bridge of his nose. He skated with blurry eyesight, preferring adjusting to his decreased vision over the discomfort of contacts, and without his glasses the letters on the page were merely blurry lumps. Letting Phichit process Yuuri’s point, Yuuri laughed when Phichit snatched the papers from Yuuri’s hand. “Yuuri Katsuki!” Phichit lowered his voice sounding like an announcer on a game show. “Your distracted ass has won one roundtrip plane ticket to the NHK in Japan! Now please take this and get laid so you can concentrate enough to win your ass a gold medal!” Phichit finished his little performance by flinging the plane ticket back into Yuuri’s hands.

“WHAT?!” Yuuri exclaimed, forcing the white paper to his nose in an attempt to read the tiny printed writing. If Phichit was joking, Yuuri was definitely eating all his favorite yogurt that night.

“Yuuri,” it was Celestino who spoke now, placing a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “You know I don’t condone missing practice time before a big competition, but your head isn’t in the game. Take the ticket. Three days, no training, and Phichit has already cleared it with Victor that you can stay in his hotel room. There is no cost to you, except for food, and I have a sneaking suspicion your boyfriend will try to take care of that too. Go, relax, recharge, and come back ready to win.”

Staring in shock at his coach, Yuuri couldn’t wrap his head around what they were offering. Three days with Victor. Watching Victor compete in person without having to compete himself. No training. And lastly… staying in the same hotel room as Victor. It was everything Yuuri wanted but would have never dreamed to ask for, rolled into one three-folded sheet of paper. Breaking his composure, he leaned over the railing and snagged Phichit in a hug.

“I think he likes it!” Phichit chirped giving Celestino a thumbs up as he patted Yuuri on the back. “Wait until you talk to Victor,” Phichit whispered in Yuuri’s ear, laughing when Yuuri exclaimed in wordless sounds.

* * *

 

The first day in Japan had been a blur. Yuuri had rushed from the airport directly to the rink, being tackled onto the ground the moment Victor saw him. Flashes of light from the media cameras and the phones of fans caught every second of Victor’s affections, except for the kiss which they cleverly hid with their well-placed arms.

The competition was already starting, Victor in the second group, and Yuuri standing around with the access pass that Victor had somehow managed to acquire. Yakov was less than thrilled as Yuuri took his place beside him to watch Victor skate, but Victor skated the most flawless program of the series, surpassing his own world record. Yakov muttered something gruff under his breath as they left the arena, and Victor whispered in Yuuri’s ear that it was grumpy Russian for “thank you” making Yuuri hide a giggle behind his hand.

Jetlag had hit Yuuri hard, dragging him into the depths of sleepiness as they made their way back to the hotel. They took turns showering, put in an order for room service, and curled up on the bed together. They exchanged lingering kisses and whispered words until the food cart showed up, sitting up on the bed to demolish the plates of diet plan accepted food. Victor made promises of better meals the next day when the only scheduled practice would be before Yuuri intended to be awake. Clearing their dinner dishes to the hallway, they found each other under the sheets of the hotel room bed and quickly nodded off to sleep.

* * *

 

As Yuuri had predicted, he slept through Victor’s practice on his second day in Japan. When he finally forced his eyes awake, Victor was stretched out next to him, nose deep in a book that Yuuri vaguely recognized from other students carrying it around campus. Victor was already near the end of the binding, despite having started the book only four days prior. Crawling up Victor’s chest, Yuuri planted a kiss to his cheek, “good morning, bookworm.” He yelped when Victor dropped the book on the floor, tackling Yuuri back onto the bed and planted rapid kisses all over his face. Yuuri hated mornings, but mornings with Victor he could learn to get used to.

* * *

 

They spent the rest of the day wandering through shops and eating food they shouldn’t. Yuuri had made a number of comments with regard to the calorie intake of said foods and Victor had pulled him to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk to ask him why.

Yuuri’s face had flushed as he clumsily tried to explain the fluctuation in his own weight and the struggles he usually faced getting back into shape with each off season. Victor has taken in every word, nodding along with Yuuri’s stumbling explanation and trying to wrap his head around a problem he had never experienced. His doctors and trainers had always called his metabolism inhuman, and Victor had seemingly taken it for granted.

It had been embarrassing to explain everything to Victor, but Yuuri supposed that he had been hinting at it for a reason. Phichit would have said that Yuuri wanted Victor to ask, and in a way the Phichit voice in his head was right. Struggling with losing and gaining weight each season was a big part of Yuuri’s athletic life and if he was going to continue being with Victor, he needed Victor to understand why he couldn’t always indulge in the same way Victor or even Phichit could. When Victor admitted that he didn’t understand, but he would try to be mindful of it in the future, Yuuri couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his boyfriend into a hug.

That hug would be the most physical affection that Victor would get from Yuuri while they were out exploring. He had known that being in Japan would limit Yuuri’s willingness for public displays of affection, but Victor had no idea how nuts it would make him. The light graze of Yuuri’s fingers every time they accidentally brushed hands as they walked, the way Yuuri’s eyes would linger on Victor’s lips when he talked, and the subtle press of Yuuri’s fingers against Victor’s thigh every time they stood in a stacked line had slowly unraveled every strand of Victor’s sanity. As the sun began to set over the horizon, Victor had finally had all he could take, redirecting Yuuri toward their hotel with the promise of room service and bad television.

Seconds before the hotel room door clicked shut behind them, Victor was pulling Yuuri to his chest, ignoring the bulk of their coats and holding Yuuri with all the strength his arms could allow. Feeling Yuuri’s arms circle his waist, Victor sighed letting his cheek rest against Yuuri’s head as he relaxed into the touch. Having Yuuri watch him skate the day before, then being with Yuuri for an entire day while exploring without the restrictions of competition day timelines, had been better than Victor could have dreamed. Except not being able to touch Yuuri. He understood the cultural norms and Yuuri’s request to abide by them, but it had been as close to torture as Victor had ever been. Being within a foot of Yuuri and not being able to hold him had been slowly killing Victor with every passing hour.

Nuzzling into Victor’s chest, Yuuri again found himself wondering how they had gotten here. Yuuri, skittish to touch his whole life, wanted nothing more than to permanently live in Victor’s embrace. The arms wrapped around his back, the hands tracing slow patterns over the stitching of his coat, made Yuuri respond in ways he hadn’t thought possible. Learning to relax and breathe in Victor’s presence had been the first step, learning to accept his body’s needy response to Victor’s touch was the next. Squeezing Victor’s waist, Yuuri burrowed his face harder in Victor’s coat as all the thoughts raced through his mind at once. The need was growing in him, faster than the growing beast of nervousness, and Yuuri felt like a balloon waiting to pop.

Victor felt it. He felt the tremor of Yuuri against him and for a moment he froze, terrified that Yuuri was crying. There was no logical explanation for the thought, Yuuri had seemed relaxed and happy for their entire day and Victor quickly scolded himself for jumping to a negative conclusion. Nudging his face a little closer to Yuuri’s neck, he placed a kiss there and watched as the blush begin to spread over Yuuri’s face and ear. When Yuuri trembled again, his body pressing closer, Victor felt the rush of desire hit him like a breaking wave. Pressing another light kiss to Yuuri’s neck, he followed the path with the tip of his nose, tracing up over Yuuri’s ear while gathering his courage to speak.

The rumble of Yuuri’s stomach had them both jumping, separating slightly and then bursting into breathy laughter. The building tension popped like a bubble between them, and Yuuri took the opportunity to step back and carefully unwind his scarf from his neck. Another tremble ran through him, the memory of Victor’s kisses making him bite his bottom lip as he opened the buttons of his coat with shaky fingers. Lifting his eyes to meet Victor’s gaze, Yuuri felt his smile go crooked and goofy seeing Victor’s pinked cheeks and quivering hands. Neither of them knew what they were doing, but somehow that made it more comfortable. Bracing himself for what would happen next, Yuuri tossed his coat over the closest chair and took a step back toward Victor. Before he could reach him though, his stomach betrayed him, once again filling the space of the hotel room with its own declaration of need.

“Room service?” Victor managed to say, the sight of Yuuri moving toward him without the covering of his winter coat had made his brain become foggy. Together, they were in Victor’s hotel room, hours laid before them with no requirements, only the chance to exist privately in each other’s company. The possibility of what could come made Victor feel giddy and terrified, all in one breath. Trying to push away some of his rambling thoughts, Victor took a few steps to pluck the room service menu from its spot on the desk. “What do you-” His sentence was cut off as Yuuri moved behind him, arms coming around to circle Victor’s waist as the laminated paper almost slipped from his fingers.

“Anything,” Yuuri responded, a sign as to how distracted he was by Victor wearing the softest blue sweater Yuuri had ever felt. Food was a sacred experience in Yuuri’s life, but he would have eaten sawdust if it would quiet his stomach and let him go back to where they had been a few minutes prior. Rubbing his nose in between Victor’s shoulder blades, he turned his head, sighing his contentment as he pressed his cheek there.

Thinking was nearly impossible with Yuuri this close. In the weeks that they had known each other, their relationship building mostly over time spent through screens and limited physical interaction, Victor had developed an addiction to Yuuri’s touch. He needed the feeling of Yuuri almost as much as he needed air and water. Letting himself be held, Victor used his free hand to sneak under the sleeve of Yuuri’s sweater, caressing the top of Yuuri’s wrist with lazy circles of his fingertips. “Do you want to order, love?”

Every time Victor called him love, Yuuri felt his heart squeeze happily in his chest. Snuggling into Victor’s back, Yuuri shook his head. “I want to hear you do it,” he felt Victor’s chuckle where their bodies were pressed together, feeling the smile spread over his face with his own teasing. Victor had been attempting to learn Japanese from the second he found out that Yuuri had taken Russian courses in his earlier years at university. His accent was terrible, but he was learning and Yuuri thought it was the single sweetest thing anyone had ever done for him.

“Evil,” Victor said, twisting in Yuuri’s arms so that Yuuri’s face was pressed into his chest, “and if I get it right, do I get a reward?” The words slipped out before Victor could stop them, the flirty innuendo hanging between them as Yuuri shifted, tipping his head toward Victor, his eyes slightly narrowed as they flicked a glance at Victor’s lips.

“That could be arranged,” Yuuri whispered, unbelieving that it was him speaking. It was Victor who always made Yuuri feel stronger than he was, and even in a situation where Yuuri lacked confidence, he could feel it building falsely inside of him. When Victor blushed, Yuuri felt that strength explode and he pushed himself up on his toes, finally capturing Victor’s lips in a kiss.

Victor’s brain took a moment to catch up, caught off guard by Yuuri’s first move. The last few times they had kissed it had been Victor who had initiated it, and his body and mind were reeling with the feeling of Yuuri pressing his lips against Victor’s, reminiscent of their first kiss in Russia. Finally recovering from his shock, Victor began to kiss Yuuri back, slowly savoring the taste of Yuuri’s lips.

It wasn’t enough. Yuuri’s body was screaming for more as Yuuri cautiously slid his hands around the hem of Victor’s sweater, sneaking under to press his fingers against Victor’s lower back. Unlike Yuuri, Victor wasn’t wearing an undershirt, and Yuuri found himself thankful for that decision as he ghosted his fingertips over Victor’s bare skin. He wondered, as he continued to explore the curve of Victor’s back, their lips still pressed together in an escalating kiss, what it would be like to pull Victor’s sweater over his head and continue this without the layers of clothing between them. Gathering his courage, Yuuri trailed his hands back to Victor’s sides seizing the hem of Victor’s sweater with the intention of removing it.

Both of them jumped when Victor’s stomach growled. Breaking apart, they both began to laugh again, nervous and uncontrolled as the heat between them cooled to a simmer. Patting his stomach, Victor bent to retrieve the menu from the ground. “I guess our bodies and our minds are at odds currently,” Victor had moved to pluck the phone from the receiver and missed the flush of Yuuri’s face. Pressing the numbers for room service he waited, eyes trained on the menu and purposely not looking at the tousled locks and tempting lips of his boyfriend. He would order food and then he would kiss Yuuri for every second it took for it to get to them.

Taking a step backwards, Yuuri listened to Victor attempting to order their dinner in struggling Japanese. Moments before, Yuuri would have declared Victor the sexiest man alive. Now, as Victor fumbled pronunciations and the crease showing his concentration appeared between his brows, Yuuri knew that Victor Nikiforov was also the most adorable man alive. How both of those men could be wrapped into one, and also be the man who wanted Yuuri, was still beyond Yuuri’s comprehension, but he refused to analyze it. He had done enough doubting and questioning, driving Phichit to the point of exasperation, and now was the time to let himself feel. Using his toes to kick off his shoes, Yuuri settled himself onto Victor’s bed, head resting against the white pillow case and smile aimed directly at Victor’s heart.

 _Yuuri was cruel_ , Victor decided, his words becoming a mess as he watched Yuuri stretch out over the bed. He was cruel, and beautiful, and perfect, and somehow willing to be Victor’s. Those thoughts spun in Victor’s mind as he rattled off the last few items from the menu, having absolutely no idea how much food he had ordered. Yuuri Katsuki was bad for his concentration, but he was everything Victor’s heart had ever needed. Replacing the receiver, Victor followed Yuuri’s lead, kicking off his shoes and crossing the room to crawl onto the bed.

Their arms were around each other before Victor could fully settle into place. For a moment, they paused, goofy smiles mirroring on both faces before they found their way back to each other’s lips. They kissed slowly, despite the growing need in both of them, taking their time and breaking their connection only when the urge to smile made it impossible to stay connected.

Giddiness filled Yuuri’s chest as scooted closer to Victor, tangling their legs together and letting his hands wander back under Victor’s sweater. The smooth warmth of Victor’s back, powerful muscles seamlessly blending with elegant curves had Yuuri moaning unexpectedly. Surprised by his own noise, Yuuri pulled back, panic banging inside of his head like a ten piece drumline.

Victor shifted, his intent to reassure Yuuri as he accidentally pressed his growing arousal against Yuuri’s thigh. Even though he had been reciting his routine in his head as an attempt to control himself, Yuuri’s moan had snapped his resistance. He didn’t want to pressure or push Yuuri, as much as he didn’t want to be pressured or pushed himself, and he dropped his head sheepishly as Yuuri’s mouth dropped open.

 _It shouldn’t be a surprise_ , Yuuri thought, lifting hand from under Victor’s sweater to caress his boyfriend’s perfect cheek. His own body was reacting in the same way and he knew, both in Victor’s actions and Victor’s words, that Victor was attracted to him. Still, the physical confirmation of that attraction, the simple knowledge that Victor wanted this as badly as Yuuri did, left him feeling breathless. Slipping his hand under Victor’s chin, Yuuri used his fingers to tip Victor’s face back up. Leaning up, Yuuri whispered, “me too,” as he brought their lips back together.

His body melted into Yuuri’s, the reassurance of those two words settling all of the worry that had wormed its way into Victor’s mind and replacing it with a calm desire to continue to hold Yuuri. Knowing that they were in this together made Victor smile again, chuckling as his smile forced their lips apart. “Everything is better when you’re here,” Victor sighed, resting his forehead against Yuuri’s as they took the time to breathe. Yuuri was the first person Victor had been able to talk to about all of his hesitations and reservations about skating, and Victor knew that if he wanted to talk now, Yuuri would be right there to listen. But they could talk over the phone or while they were eating, and Victor had no desire to waste their precious moments of quiet togetherness on anything other than feeling Yuuri against him. Stealing Yuuri’s response from his lips, Victor dipped his head back down, finding Yuuri open and waiting for the reconnection.

They kissed, unhurried and languid, for all the minutes it took for the food to arrive, announced by the quick rap at the door. Both of them looking between them, at their rumpled clothing, tousled hair, and tented pants and burst into joint fits of giggles. “Rock, paper, scissors to see who gets it?” Yuuri teased, his leg shifting between Victor’s thighs and his cheeks flushing again with the accidental hint at a subject entirely unrelated to food. He knew in the back of his mind, in a voice that sounded remarkably like Phichit’s psychology student voice, that none of these little innuendoes were accidental. They spoke to all of the thoughts swimming unspoken in their minds, and this simple thought had Yuuri’s heart beating unsteady rhythms in his chest.

Bending down to kiss Yuuri’s nose, Victor laughed as he pushed back and off of the bed. “Lift and tuck!” he declared, readjusting himself to press his erection under his belt buckle. It was a method Chris had made many, many jokes about over the years, and Victor found it surprisingly successful despite the extreme level of discomfort it brought him. Leaving Yuuri to giggle to himself on the bed, Victor made his way to the door to accept their dinner with a lopsided smile and a tip large enough to silently request discretion. Pushing the cart inside, Victor laughed as his stomach growled in tandem with Yuuri’s, reaching out to place another quick kiss on Yuuri’s cheek as he joined him at the table.

* * *

 

Dinner had been remarkably quiet, but not in a way that felt tense or uncomfortable. As much as Victor loved talking to Yuuri, he had also discovered that with Yuuri there was also a comfort in silence. The quiet Victor left behind in the walls of his apartment in St. Petersburg had felt oppressive and depressing, but quiet with Yuuri felt like peace. Victor’s mind was calm, as he and Yuuri shared smiles and fleeting touches as they picked through all the dishes Victor had ordered.

There was an absurd amount of food spread over the table, and Yuuri found himself feeling close to heaven as he lazily picked between rolls of rice and fish and bowls of steaming noodles. Victor’s understanding of both Yuuri’s love of food and his struggles with it allowed him to relax into the meal, without a care regarding the possibility of being judged. Under the table, his sock covered toes found Victor’s and he playfully poked at Victor’s foot while he reached forward to steal a slice of pork from Victor’s bowl.

It had never been easy to exist in the same space as someone else. Yuuri’s family had adapted to his expanding need for space as that need had grown with Yuuri throughout his lifetime. As a child he had been eager to scramble into his mother’s lap, and take a seat on top of his father’s shoulders, but as a teenager and then an adult, Yuuri had grown weary of physical contact. Those walls had come crashing down when Victor crashed into his life, and Yuuri was finally settling into the feeling. Comically slurping a noodle into his mouth, purposely loud and noisy to make Victor laugh, Yuuri smiled as Victor reached across the table to remove the sauce from his cheek with the caress of a thumb. Somehow, in only a few weeks, their joint existence had become easy, and Yuuri had stopped wanting to question every facet of that.

Dinner dishes stacked and the tray left outside of the door, Victor and Yuuri found themselves once again tangled on the bed. The television was on in the background, a joke in Yuuri’s mind as there was never a chance that they would focus on anything but each other. The growing need to be physically close had become like a magnet, pulling them together and keeping them wrapped tightly into each other’s embraces.

Yuuri had been the first to push it further, carefully pulling Victor’s sweater over his head, only breaking eye contact when the cloth had momentarily caught on Victor’s ears. The laughter cracked the tension in the moment and Yuuri had pulled Victor back to him, laughing against Victor’s lips as his hands began to explore.

When Victor pulled away, hand dropping to fiddle with the hem of Yuuri’s sweater, Yuuri felt the rush of anxiety catch in the back of his throat. His body wasn’t like Victor’s. All of Victor’s scars were the product of Victor’s career, small lines reminding him of each miscalculation of a jump or collision into a wall that had gotten too close. Yuuri’s body was covered in the evidence of his long-standing struggle with his weight. The fluctuating gain and loss of ten to fifteen pounds every off season, and the scars from his slight growth spurt as a teenager, spread over his stomach and thighs like silvery webs. His skin wasn’t flawless and beautiful like Victor’s, and he swallowed hard thinking about Victor’s reaction.

“Yuuri…” Victor searched Yuuri’s eyes trying to understand his suddenly downcast expression. The heat that had built between them was suddenly stagnant, and Victor thought quickly in hopes of saving it. “You can keep it on,” he smiled, bending down to kiss Yuuri over his heart, still currently covered by the protective layers of Yuuri’s sweater and t-shirt, “whatever makes you comfortable. But know you are beautiful to me, no matter what battle scars you carry.” Remaining elevated over Yuuri, Victor cupped Yuuri’s cheek and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He knew that Yuuri would probably struggle with this part, sensing that from Yuuri’s constant use of layers and Yuuri’s own admissions about his trouble to control his weight. Victor wanted him to feel safe and loved, and would wait for an eternity to guarantee that.

 _Battle scars_ , Yuuri repeated to himself, feeling the anxiety begin to melt away. He trusted Victor, that fact was indisputable, and Yuuri let that trust roll over him as he sat up and removed both of his shirts at once. When Victor let out a small gasp, leaning forward to dance kisses across Yuuri’s bare shoulder, Yuuri let the rest of his hesitation fall away. Turning his body, he placed his hands on Victor’s waist and pushed him back on the pillows.

Victor’s brain stopped functioning. The sight of Yuuri looking down at him, bottom lip pulled into his teeth on one side, glasses discarded onto the night stand and dark hair tickling against Victor’s nose, made Victor’s body dissolve into sensation. The time for overthinking had passed and as Yuuri stretched out on top of Victor, he let himself get lost to the feeling.

He needed more. Yuuri could feel the raw need building in his belly as he shifted to run his hand over Victor’s bare torso. The nub of Victor’s nipple felt warm and hard under Yuuri’s thumb and Victor’s moan felt like heaven against his mouth. As their lips parted, letting their tongues meet in a heated dance, Yuuri traced the line of Victor’s belt, hand coming to rest over the buckle, a silent question which he waited for Victor to answer.

“Yes,” the word was breathless as Victor began to trace his own path toward the button on Yuuri’s jeans, hearing Yuuri give his own consent as they both set to work on removing another layer between them.

It was clumsy and they ended up in a giggling wrestling match while trying to unbutton each other’s pants. Yuuri was jokingly cursing at Victor’s belt, while Victor was playfully whining about Yuuri’s ass not relinquishing its hold on Yuuri’s jeans. By the time they were left in only their underwear, and Yuuri had barely survived the shock of discovery that Victor was wearing a black thong, they were breathless again and lying sprawled at an odd angle across the bed. Unwilling to care about their weird position, they found themselves desperately returning to their explorations of each other’s bodies, giggling when their movements caused them to knock heads or bump noses.

Yuuri remembered Phichit describing the sweetness of another man’s skin and as he ducked under Victor’s chin to experimentally lick along the line of Victor’s throat, he questioned Phichit’s accuracy. Victor didn’t taste sweet. His skin was warm under Yuuri’s lips and the tip of Yuuri’s tongue, but he tasted in a way that Yuuri couldn’t describe. He got lost in it, instantly wanting to taste more and fueled on by Victor’s moans and squeezing hands.

Skaters notoriously had wonderful butts and Victor knew his had been the subject of much tabloid fodder, but absolutely nothing compared to the feeling of Yuuri’s ass flexing beneath his palm. He had no idea what he had expected when he cautiously dipped his hand beneath the waistband of Yuuri’s underwear, but the warm, supple curve, flexing every time Yuuri shifted his leg, had Victor quickly losing grip on his control. The feeling of Yuuri kissing soft, trailing kisses across his neck and his hand gripping Yuuri’s bare ass had Victor rutting forward, only realizing what he was doing when Yuuri gasped. Eyes flinging open, Victor panicked, stuttering out an apology.

“Can I touch you?” was Yuuri’s response, spoken into the shell of Victor’s neck as his index finger traced a line barely under the hem of Victor’s underwear. He couldn’t think of anything else, the need to make Victor feel good, the desire to be the source of Victor’s release, taking over his mind in a cloud of restrained lust. If Victor said no, Yuuri would happily kiss him for all of their remaining hours together never taking things further than that.

“Please,” Victor moaned, the sound growing louder as Yuuri slipped his hand over where Victor wanted it most. Head falling back, Victor felt his world spin out as Yuuri touched him with all the tenderness that Victor never knew he needed.

* * *

 

Morning rudely interrupted the happiness of sleeping in Yuuri’s arms, breaking into Victor’s dreams of weddings and poodle groomsmen with the harsh sound of his alarm. Slapping out at his phone, Victor set the snooze for ten minutes and curled back around Yuuri.

The night before had not been the text book definition of perfect, but Victor wouldn’t have traded a moment of it. After he had cum, on the wave of an embarrassingly loud shout brought on by the overwhelming sensation of Yuuri’s hand wrapped around him, Victor had clumsily wiped his chest with his discarded sweater before pressing Yuuri back into the mattress and asking his own requests. He had discovered the beauty of Yuuri in orgasm, and Victor had decided sometime after they had both showered and changed into bed clothes, that he could make a religion out of making his boyfriend cum. They hadn’t attempted another round, but they had sleepily made out, until the sandman came for them, leaving them curled into each other’s arms in peaceful slumber.

Today was the last day of competition and then Yuuri was going to leave again, traveling back on the red eye flight to continue his training in Detroit. Yuuri’s spot at the finale was already secured, and while Victor tried to avoid the cocky tone in his thought, he had no reason to believe he wouldn’t be joining him there. It would be a long two weeks until they were reunited and Victor felt the sadness of that beginning to creep in.

Yuuri felt the wetness on his back as his mind became consciously aware of the brightening room. He was in Victor’s arms, their first night being intimate still fresh in his mind making his body hum with the memory. This was everything Yuuri ever wanted and he turned to tell Victor exactly that. The words caught in his throat when he saw the tears cascading down his boyfriend’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Victor stuttered, wiping his eye with the back of his hand. “I started thinking about the next two weeks and I…” he broke off into a small sob, letting Yuuri pull him into a tight hug.

“Two weeks,” Yuuri whispered into Victor’s hair. There was more to his sentence, but the emotions snarled it before Yuuri could get it out. He didn’t want to leave Victor’s side for two weeks either, and his own eyes began to sting. “We’re a mess,” he commented, mostly to himself but he heard Victor snort. “We can throw ourselves into the air, balanced on pointed blades, but the idea of two weeks without kisses has broken us.” Yuuri knew it was about so much more than physical intimacy, but he used the example to encourage another chuckle from Victor.

“Will you call me every day?” Victor asked, raising his head and feeling his emotions rise again when he saw the tears on Yuuri’s face. Snuggling forward, Victor kissed each path, tasting the salt of Yuuri’s tears and feeling the vibration of Yuuri’s chortle under his lips.

“Sometimes twice,” Yuuri said, pushing Victor’s hair back from his forehead and flinching when Victor’s morning breath skated past his nose.

“Maybe three times?” Victor teased, rubbing his nose against Yuuri’s while he pulled their bodies together.

“Maybe we should set up a continuous live feed. I’m sure Phichit knows how to do it.” Yuuri was laughing now, legs tangled with Victor’s as he continued to add to their absurdity. He knew they both had their insecurities, something they had discussed when it was easier to be open in the stream of text messages than having to talk about it out loud. Promising himself that he would be careful with Victor’s feelings, he continued to tease his boyfriend, until it was time to pull themselves from the safety of the hotel room and rejoin the world for the rest of Victor’s competition.

* * *

 

“About that live feed,” Victor hiccupped, the tears flowing again as they clung to each other in the back of the cab. It seemed all too familiar at this point, saying goodbye to Yuuri outside of airports and train stations, leaving his heart behind in Yuuri’s loving hands. Squeezing his eyes shut, he heard Yuuri’s watery giggle and felt his heart break. He didn’t want to keep doing this, even with the promise of being together in Sochi sealed with Victor’s second gold medal, he couldn’t seem to let go. Wrapping his arms tighter around Yuuri’s shoulders, Victor buried his face to hide his sorrow.

Holding Victor against him, Yuuri felt his lip quiver. He was scared to speak knowing that opening his mouth, even for a second would cause his tears to fall. Pressing hard kisses to the side of Victor’s face, Yuuri accepted the fact that this man was his world now, and he was going to have to live without touching him for thirteen days. Finally unable to hold back, Yuuri shifted, grabbing Victor’s face and kissing him hard as the tears began to roll.

Fifteen minutes later, Yuuri was stepping through the doors of the airport, shouting his promise to call Victor every day over his shoulder for the one hundredth time. Finals and training would crush him as soon as he landed in Detroit, but he wasn’t going to lose sight of what was most important. Watching Victor’s cab disappear into the swelling traffic, Yuuri promised himself that he wouldn’t let his boyfriend down.

A promise that was broken, eleven and a half days later when a call from home brought devastation and despair into Yuuri’s world.

Across the world, where Victor was driven to practice and perfection by the knowledge that Yuuri would be with him in Sochi, the world suddenly went dark.


	4. Not everything can be solved with kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The finals in Sochi begin.
> 
> Please check out the amazing art created by [rikichie](https://rikichie.tumblr.com) which can be found [here](https://rikichie.tumblr.com/post/166865776932/so-these-are-some-of-the-arts-i-made-for)
> 
> New art will be posted for Chapter 5 and the epilogue this week!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize because I forgot to add the "angst with a happy ending" tag, but it is there now! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has supported this story! I am exceptionally proud of what Riki and I put together, and I am so appreciative to everyone who has given this story a chance! 
> 
> Please check out our other collabs here:  
> [Expressions of Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11626041)  
> [Home is better with you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12182775)
> 
> And if you want to talk about this story or anything YOI, please come visit us on Tumblr!  
> [rikichie](https://rikichie.tumblr.com)  
> [n3rdlif343va](https://n3rdlif343va.tumblr.com)  
> Also me on Twitter: [NeRdLife4Eva](https://twitter.com/NeRdLife4Eva)

The cold in Sochi was unpleasant and unforgiving as Victor somberly followed Yakov out of the airport and toward the waiting van. The other Russian skaters were engaging in their usual banter, Yuri Plisetsky mercilessly annoying Mila in the way only a teenager without manners could do. Their racket was giving him a headache, and he slowed his pace to allow them to move ahead of him. Victor pushed his sunglasses closer to his face, masking the red rim of his eyes and the bags that were too severe to be covered by makeup. Makkachin trotted along beside him, an unexpected guest for this competition, but one that Victor refused to travel without.

He hadn’t heard from Yuuri in days. Given Yuuri’s early set of finals and the preparation for the grand prix, Victor could almost explain the absence of calls, despite Yuuri’s promise to call him every day and the fulfillment of that promise up until recently. But what he couldn’t explain, what was hurting more than anything, was the dozens of text messages, all marked read and left without response. Even on his worst days, the days when Yuuri was tired and irritable, he would at least respond even if those responses where only angry looking emojis. Yuuri always gave Victor the chance to make him feel better, calling on days when Yuuri would start the call by glaring at his hands, and slowly find his way back to a smile. In the last few days, Victor had gotten nothing but silence and his heart was fraying dangerously close to breaking apart.

Yakov had reminded him on the plane that trouble in paradise was no excuse for not winning gold, in the bitter, goal-oriented way that only Yakov could talk. That voice had lived in Victor’s head for years, and for most of them it had pushed him forward, driving Victor to succeed no matter the cost. Yuuri’s voice had taken the place of Yakov’s in recent weeks, and Victor found that impossible to deal with at the moment, when real life Yuuri seemed determinedly absent. As Yakov continued his poor excuse for a pep talk, Victor flagged the first class flight attendant and immediately requested a continuous round of bottomless champagne. If he was going to have to endure Yakov-love-dies-here-Feltsman for the entire plane ride, he was going to need to be teetering on the edge of drunk.

Which was exactly what he was as he stumbled into his hotel room, tossing his bags onto the table and throwing himself across the bed, wrapping his arms around Makkachin when he should have been holding Yuuri. Giving up the need to stay awake, Victor let himself pass into a restless nap.

* * *

 

Every light in the airplane felt like a personal assault to Yuuri’s eyes. In the week before Sochi, he had survived three finals for professors who had refused to allow him an extension solely because he was a professional athlete along with his grueling schedule at the rink. He could have forced the issue at school, allowed Celestino to “have words” with his stubborn professors or decreased some of his rink time to allow for proper rest, but Yuuri didn’t like conflict or disappointing anyone so he had pushed through every painstaking hour.

His only solace had been Victor. Patient Victor who had laughed when Yuuri fell asleep during a Skype conversation and swooned when Yuuri had sleepily slipped between the three languages he knew. It hadn’t been the best weeks for communication, but Yuuri had called every day, fulfilling his promise despite the full body exhaustion and mental fatigue.

Everything would have been fine, even with Yuuri’s sanity clinging to the edge of the cliff by broken fingernails, until the call from home had Sparta-kicked the last shreds of it into an unfathomably deep pit. His mother had made the call, sobbing into the phone leaving Yuuri confused and worried as he tried to piece together her sentences which were broken by tears. When he heard his father’s voice, low and somber in a way Yuuri could never remember it being, his chest had tightened in apprehension as the bottom dropped out of his stomach.

In the end, it was Mari who had delivered the news. Vicchan had passed away, quietly crossing over the rainbow bridge while resting on Yuuri’s pillow. His dog was gone, leaving this world while still waiting for Yuuri to return.

The grief had been instantaneous. Phone clattering to the ground, Yuuri curled into a ball feeling his chest constrict into a tight knot of regret and remorse. Vicchan had been his best friend, loyal and steady through all of Yuuri’s most uncertain years. But Yuuri had left him behind, never returning home during the years that he was attending school in Detroit. Sobbing into the cheap carpet of his room, Yuuri couldn’t help thinking that Vicchan probably thought Yuuri abandoned him, left him behind unwanted and forgotten.

No matter how many times Phichit came to him, offering him tea and comforting hugs, Yuuri continued to remain a ball of raw emotions, banished to his own floor where he deserved to rot for the rest of his days for leaving his best friend without explanation. Vicchan died without him, and Yuuri didn’t deserve to be cared for when he hadn’t been there to care for Vicchan.

He hadn’t called Victor that night, nor for all of the hours of the following day. On the morning of his flight to Sochi, he stared at the text messages, all one-sided and unanswered, and the list of missed calls. The only feeling leaking through the numbness, a side effect of his grief and his ability to shut down when needed, was guilt and Yuuri felt sick knowing that he was probably hurting Victor as well. It was possible that he would get to Sochi only for Victor to dump him for failing to keep his promise, and Yuuri figured it was probably for the best. He was an expert at letting people down, Vicchan’s lonely death proved this. It was only a matter of time before Victor grew tired of his inability to live up to simple standards. Victor deserved the world, and all Yuuri could offer him was pocket lint.

Miserably, Yuuri pulled his glasses from his face, tucking them in his pocket before tugging on his sleep mask. If he slept he wouldn’t have to endure Celestino’s gentle prodding, and Yuuri figured that was the only way to survive the international flight. Succumbing to darkness of his mask, Yuuri leaned back against his seat and prayed for the relief of sleep.

* * *

 

“Get up!”

The gruff call paired with the harsh banging on Victor’s door had him cussing into his pillow. He had never bothered to change from the flight and had skipped dinner the night before. If it hadn’t been for Makkachin needing to be walked and fed, he would have gladly remained face down on the bed until the last possible second. Screaming back at Yakov without bothering to answer the door, Victor waited as the stomping footsteps stormed down the hotel hallway. Sighing, he dropped against the wall, letting all the heaviness of his thoughts weigh down on him.

He wanted to see Yuuri. _Scratch that_ , he thought, pushing himself back to a standing position and lumbering toward his suitcase, he needed to see Yuuri. He needed to know that his treacherous mind had blown this entire situation out of proportion and a small part of him still hoped that Yuuri would come running into his arms as soon as they were once again sharing the same space.

The bigger part of him, the part that knew when Yuuri was having a bad day through the monosyllabic text messages and the constant scowl through Skype, was absolutely certain that he had done something to make Yuuri stop loving him. Maybe he shouldn’t have insisted that Yuuri call him every day, maybe he should have told Yuuri to take a break, instead of encouraging Yuuri to study while Victor read, the Skype call ongoing and quiet between them. Thinking back on the two weeks, Victor could come up with a million things he could have possibly done wrong, and all of them could have been why Yuuri was avoiding him now. Not wanting to break up with Victor over Skype or text would be a very Yuuri thing to do, and as this thought crept back to the forefront of Victor’s mind, he raced to the bathroom to heave into the toilet.

He was in no shape to skate, even with the first competition still hours away, but he knew he didn’t have a choice. _Trouble in paradise was no excuse for not winning gold._ He repeated Yakov’s horrid words as he splashed water on his face and steeled himself for interaction. Dragging out his makeup bag, Victor prepared to make himself presentable to the world.

* * *

 

Yuuri was late. He hadn’t showed up for practice in the morning, simply not having the energy to care and too afraid to face Victor. Celestino had come to his room, banging on the door and calling Yuuri’s cell phone, but he had hid in the bottom of his shower, letting the hottest water scald his skin. He needed more time to work his brain into complete numbness, and he hoped that Celestino would forgive him eventually. 

Skipping practice had been one thing, but Yuuri knew that he couldn’t miss warm ups or the competition. He had worked too hard and for too many hours to give up entirely. Even though he didn’t deserve to be happy or win a medal of any sort, Celestino deserved his best effort and so did his friends and family. It was by concentrating on them, the people who were still alive and he hadn’t yet completely disappointed, that he was able to force himself into his warm up suit and into the back of the cab.

Victor stood on the side of the ice, dressed in his costume covered by team jacket and his tennis shoes tied where his skates should have been. Yuuri was supposed to be in the first round of competitors, and Victor was determined not to miss him. He had cried through his first round of makeup, reapplying it as soon as he could slip away from Yakov’s side and hide inside of the locker room. Yuuri had never shown up for practice, and Victor had begun to spin wild tales in his head about Yuuri’s well-being. Gripping the top of the barrier wall, Victor nearly fainted when Yuuri appeared, stone-faced and red-eyed alongside Celestino.

Yuuri had chosen to take his glasses off early, letting his vision blur as he walked from the tunnel toward the ice where he would skate for thirty minutes to appease his coach. Blindly pulling his blade guards from his skates, Yuuri dropped them into Celestino’s hands and pushed onto the ice, numb to everything around him.

Practically running around the side of the rink, Victor collided with Celestino’s shoulder as he tried to reach out to Yuuri. Once again, Victor watched Yuuri’s back retreat from his grasp, a sob choking his throat as he felt a grip tighten on his arm. Peering through the potential sting of new tears, Victor found himself facing Yuuri’s coach.

“Did you two have a fight?” Celestino demanded, firing the question directly into Victor’s face. “He has a lot going on right now, and he doesn’t need some big scene from you.” The tone Celestino was using was different from the way Yakov barked orders, and Victor found himself feeling like a scolded child.

Shaking his head, Victor looked over his shoulder at his lost looking boyfriend. “I don’t know what’s going on,” Victor try to mask the emotion in his voice, failing in his efforts as Yuuri began to move through his step sequence, “I haven’t talked to him in three days.” A look of realization passed over Celestino’s face and Victor found himself oddly hopeful about what that look meant. “What’s going on, please tell me, I’m losing my mind.” Victor was practically wailing, as he grabbed at Celestino’s arm.

A sympathetic sigh released between Celestino’s empathetic frown. “It’s not my place to tell you,” he said, peering over Victor’s shoulder to keep an eye on Yuuri, “but it isn’t you. You two are a good match, and you are good for him. But…” Celestino trailed off, looking over the ice seemingly to ensure that Yuuri was still distracted. Bringing his gaze back to Victor, Celestino shook his head. “He may try to push you away, because that’s what Yuuri does. If you don’t want to go, you will have to fight to stay.” Patting Victor’s shoulder, in a manner that clearly said Celestino did not envy Victor in anyway, he left Victor to stand alone at the side of the rink.

The timer above the ice went off signaling the end of the first warm up period. Regarding it with mild disdain and a marginal amount of relief, Yuuri stepped from the ice, slipping on his guards and moving toward the tunnel. The crowd noise was giving him a dull headache and he needed time away from the spectators’ eyes to even stand a chance at competing. He was two steps into the smaller space when Victor appeared in front of him.

“Yuuri!” Victor exclaimed, with the last bit of positivity he had existing in him. Throwing himself forward he threw his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders, stomach sinking when Yuuri didn’t hug him back. Pulling away, heart aching painfully in his chest, Victor stepped back to give Yuuri his space. When no words came, Victor tried again. “I missed you, how did the rest of finals go?” He thought that regular conversation would be a good place to start and he looked at Yuuri hopefully. What he found was Yuuri’s lower lip quivering, hands balled in fists against his thighs and eyes screwed shut.

“Victor,” Yuuri forced out through gritted teeth, “you don’t have to be nice to me. I broke my promise, and I understand if you want to end this. You deserve someone better than me, I’m sorry.” The last word was barely audible as Yuuri fled down the hallway, stumbling on his skates as he moved quickly out of Victor’s sight.

Frozen, Victor couldn’t think beyond the pain of watching Yuuri walk away from him again. Covering his face in his hands, Victor willed himself to keep it together. Celestino’s words floated to the center of his mind. “Fight to stay,” Victor hissed through his teeth, a declaration of his determination not to give up. Setting off at a run, he chased down the path that Yuuri had followed.

The concrete of the stairwell was cold and hard as Yuuri slammed himself down onto the first step. He wrapped his arms around his stomach, rocking his upper body as he cried. Seeing Victor had broken him, tearing him apart as another being he had let down seemed willing to forgive him. He didn’t deserve the forgiveness, he didn’t deserve Victor, and he didn’t deserve to be loved by anyone. Letting this knowledge scream into his brain, louder than any logical whisper trying to fight its way through, Yuuri let the tears take over and dropped his head onto his knees.

Bursting through the door into the staircase, Victor spotted the sobbing crumpled form of Yuuri. Repressing his own tears, he took three strides forward and eased himself down behind his boyfriend. Softly he whispered Yuuri’s name as he gently wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s upper half. Relieved when Yuuri didn’t push him away, Victor placed a tender kiss on Yuuri’s head and held him until the tears began to subside.

His mind was calming, the mental storm subsiding to low rumbles instead of the angry destructive hurricane it had been. For the first time since Mari had told him the dreadful news, Yuuri could feel the fog rolling out and rationality fading back in. Victor was warm and firm against his back, and although Yuuri still wasn’t sure he deserved it, he twisted against the hold, turning to shove his face hard against Victor’s chest.

“What’s wrong? What did I do? Can I kiss it and make it better?” Victor was trying to joke, knowing that sometimes Phichit was able to joke with Yuuri to break him out of anxiety attacks. Unfortunately it seemed like the wrong approach as Yuuri shoved away from him, glaring at Victor with confusion and distress flashing in his eyes.

“Not everything can be solved by kisses and hugs, Victor,” Yuuri snapped, watching the attempt at a smile fall from Victor’s face. Realizing his own mistake, Yuuri faltered, hands dropping into his lap as he whispered, “Vicchan died.” Tears falling again, these ones silent and running down Yuuri’s cheeks, he tried to continue, “He died and I wasn’t there. I hadn’t seen him in four years and he died never knowing if I would come back. I let him down. I’m going to let you down. You deserve better, Victor.”

“Damnit Yuuri,” Victor whispered, throwing his legs over the first step and tugging on Yuuri’s shirt sleeve. When Yuuri nodded, Victor reached out again, folding Yuuri into his arms and holding him tight. “You didn’t let Vicchan down, trust me, he knows you loved him. And as for me? Yuuri you could never let me down. I believe in you, Yuuri, and I believe in us. Please don’t leave me.” Finally breaking, Victor added his own tears into the mix making a relieved noise when Yuuri reached out to grab ahold of his jacket.

The doubts were still screeching in his mind, but Yuuri could feel reason starting to scream back. Clinging to Victor, Yuuri let the two emotions wrestle for dominance, using Victor as an anchor during the storm. In the haze of his grief-driven downward spiral, he had forgotten how reassuring being in Victor’s arms could be. Yuuri squeezed himself closer to Victor, praying that this time he could push the demons in his mind away.

Someone cleared their throat above their heads, and Yuuri lifted his head to peer at Celestino. His coach looked uncomfortable, as he usually did when Yuuri was struggling, and he kept his eyes trained toward a spot on the wall. He had come to tell Yuuri it was time to get ready, and Yuuri nodded, standing with his limbs heavy from exhaustion. Pausing at the door, Yuuri turned on his heel looking back at Victor with a small, tired smile, nodding when Victor wished him good luck before disappearing back into the hallway.

Victor sat, hands on his knees, and tried to imagine the amount of grief Yuuri was experiencing. If Victor lost Makkachin, he would mostly likely have to drop out of the season. Once again he found himself admiring Yuuri’s strength.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Victor tried to wrap his head around the way Yuuri’s mind worked. In all of his own thoughts, the ones that made him question his worth outside of skating, he had never questioned whether he had let anyone down. He had spent his life pushing himself to the limit in the one area where he knew he could achieve perfection, taking the superficial praise from his coaches and the media as points towards his self-worth. Maybe, in a subconscious part of his brain, he had been pushing himself as to not disappoint others, but that had never been a main focus point. Victor had wanted to win, he wanted to collect gold medals, and everyone else’s happiness with the idea was secondary.

Continuing to sit, eyes now trained on the harshly slanted staircase, Victor searched his brain trying to pinpoint exactly when that had changed. In the last year, skating had become an obligation, surprising his fans a requirement to gain the feedback he lived off of, and pleasing Yakov had been a matter of survival. It was possible that some of that was also tainted with his need to please and drive to keep beating everyone’s expectations, but he hadn’t been aware of it. But Yuuri… his sweet, wonderful, beautiful Yuuri, was hyper aware of the expectations and criticisms of their profession and seemed to have generalized them to his entire life.

His heart ached for Yuuri as he pushed up from the ground. He couldn’t reverse all of that wrong thinking immediately, but he would certainly make a more conscious effort to try. Victor still felt helpless, entering the hallway knowing that he needed to be getting into his skates and ready for his own warm ups, but unable to let the matter go.

Trying to think through the things he did when he was upset, Victor found himself stopping short, a brilliant plan springing to his mind. Slipping his phone from his pocket he dialed Mila’s number, begging her to meet him at the front of the arena and smiling when she called him crazy while agreeing to help anyway. He may not be able to cheer Yuuri up, but he was absolutely positive that he knew who could. Bouncing on his toes, he changed directions, racing in the other direction to give Mila his hotel room key.

* * *

 

The ice was a blurry blob under Yuuri’s skates. Chris and Cao Bin had already skated their routines, making Yuuri the last skater before Victor’s group would take their warmups and then stun the audience with their own brand of brilliance.

He had watched the first two skaters perform their routines without feeling or the normal point scoring that usually ticked through his brain. In every other competition this season, Yuuri had taken the ice knowing what he needed to do to win, but this time, he was only thinking about what he needed to do to survive.

His head was still foggy as the opening notes began for his short program. His body knew the steps, and he tried to turn his brain off and move with the music. Twisting as he skated toward his first jump, his mind went completely blank as he launched himself in the air.

He touched down, the fingers of his previously injured hand scraping against the ice and reminding him of his fall in practice. That fall had been because he was missing Victor and worried about what could have been going on in Russia. Moving over the ice, Yuuri realized he hadn’t been wrong. The first phone call after that fall at revealed his boyfriend, partially broken and completely exhausted, still trying to put on a brave face for Yuuri. Mind recalling Victor’s sad smile as he said he was nothing but skating, Yuuri launched into his second jump.

This time he fell, his right thigh connecting with the ice in a painful strike that Yuuri could feel all the way up into his clenched jaw. Not even stopping to shake it off, Yuuri was immediately back on his feet, chasing down the missed counts and moving toward his step sequence.

Victor saw it happen. He saw the furrow of Yuuri’s brow and the deep concentration setting Yuuri’s jaw as Yuuri had launched into his quad. Victor also saw the wrong side of Yuuri’s blade leave the ice and the overturn of Yuuri’s hips as he went into his last rotation. He knew the fall was coming as Yuuri landed, and he shouted, unable to prevent it from where he stood on the side of the rink.

_If nothing else_ , Yuuri thought, kicking his left foot to the side before flinging himself in a sharp circle, _I’ve got this part_. This was the step sequence he had been practicing when he had met Victor. _Correction_ , he smiled as he bent his body into another kick combination, this was the sequence he had been practicing when they crashed into each other’s worlds. As he finished the last choreographed step and set to move toward his combination jumps, Yuuri let the memory of that moment float into his mind.

Watching Yuuri’s step sequence was still as alluring as it had been on the day Victor had first noticed him. Victor’s heart jumped in his throat as he remembered it, the way Yuuri had moved over the ice in Detroit, compelling even without music. If anything, Yuuri had been more compelling this time, the hint of a smile playing at his lips as he pulled the audience into the trance of his choreography.

From his pocket, Victor heard his phone ring and begrudgingly withdrew it. Hearing Yakov roughly order him to put the damn thing away in his locker, Victor rolled his eyes and strode away, taking one last look over his shoulder before racing to meet Mila. As much as he wanted to finish watching Yuuri skate, the guards at the gates of the arena were giving Mila a hard time and Victor was not about to let them ruin his surprise. As the crowd cheered, an indication to Victor that Yuuri must have landed his combination, Victor set off at a run.

It was over. Standing in the center of the ice in his last position, Yuuri felt the mixture of the crowd’s applause and his own doubts clashing in his head. The performance was a blur, the only moments he could clearly recall were the ones where body parts collided with the ice unnecessarily. It was undoubtedly his worst performance of the entire series, and Yuuri felt the sickness gathering in his stomach as he slowly made his way to the edge of the rink.

“What’s the problem here?” Victor joined the group of two guards, Mila, and a very confused Makkachin who immediately leaped into Victor’s arms as he bent down to catch her. With a determined raise of his eyebrows and a politely threatening look set on his face, Victor stared down the two security guards.

“We can’t have dogs in the rink,” spoke the burliest of the guards, hands braced on his hips as his tone conveyed his attempt to be stern. Victor noted the tired lines on both men’s faces, trying not to chuckle at their expressions. Skating fans were no joke, and Victor had no doubt that these security guards, along with the rest of the guards at the arena, were already praying for the day when the finale would be over.

Getting to his feet, Victor accepted the leash from Mila, who smiled as she wished him good luck and stepped back to watch what Victor would do next. Carefully, Victor pulled the loose bills from his pocket, placing a stack in each guard’s hand. “Makkachin isn’t just any dog. She’s my dog. And unless you want to explain to the entire skating federation and all of these fans why Victor Nikiforov refused to skate today, I would suggest you let her in.” Victor paused, letting the two men count the bills he had handed them. When they looked up at him in surprise, the amount still fresh in both of their minds, Victor simply cocked his hip and smiled thinly at them. “I promise to keep a close eye on her. Deal?” Dumbly, they both nodded as Victor tipped his head toward Mila. Together they jogged shoulder to shoulder as they quickly made their way back down the tunnel.

“Out of my way!” Victor sang happily to the reporters who attempted to swarm him, pushing past them and into the tunnel toward the rink. The guard at the end of the tunnel had already received his small roll of bills and waved happily as Victor walked by, Makkachin’s leash dangling from Victor’s fingers.

“Being in love is turning you into a meme,” Mila laughed, bumping against Victor’s shoulder when he looked at her with confusion, “honestly I would have died laughing if you had actually said out of my way, I’m gay.” Laughing at her own joke, she punched Victor on his shoulder, shaking her head and muttering about his ridiculousness she left him to return to her seat.

The ice was still being cleared of all the tossed gifts as Victor scanned the area searching for Yuuri. He would position himself away from the kiss and cry, snagging Yuuri as he moved toward the locker room and handing over Makkachin’s leash. The two had met over Skype and Makkachin always wagged her tail at the sound of Yuuri’s voice in the same way that Yuuri’s voice always went soft and sweet when he talked to her. Victor figured if Yuuri was grieving for Vicchan, that he would ask Yuuri to care for Makkachin. giving Makkachin a chance to provide comfort to Yuuri. Makkachin never ceased to provide Victor endless support and he was positive she would do the same for Yuuri.

Makkachin had other ideas, her ears perking up as Yuuri’s voice carried over the crowd. He was giving the required statement to the rink reporter, his face serious and deadly calm as he provided his standard analysis on his performance. Makkachin launched forward, yanking her leash from Victor’s hand and bounding toward an unsuspecting Yuuri. Victor yelped, frozen in his place in pure shock over his dog’s eagerness.

Yuuri never saw her coming. The camera had finally been turned away from him, taking a break while the ice was smoothed by the Zamboni machine for the second group of skaters. He had turned to address Celestino when his coach’s confused face focused over Yuuri’s shoulder, had him twisting on the bench.

The whirlwind of brown fur landed half in Yuuri’s lap with a thud. Caught off guard, Yuuri exclaimed in shock, hands going into the dog’s fur as she began to cover his face in kisses. Glancing around, Yuuri spotted Victor’s smile paired with watering eyes.

“Makkachin?” Yuuri questioned, feeling the emotions flood his chest as his own tears sprang to his eyes. Wrapping his arms around the dog’s neck, hearing her bark in response to her own name, Yuuri began to cry. Stuffing his face into the soft brown curls, he attempted to hide his outburst from the world.

Victor panicked as he watched the reporters turn to aim their cameras toward Yuuri. He hadn’t meant to make Yuuri cry, and certainly would never want his very privacy-oriented boyfriend to cry in public. The idea of the press capturing such a personal emotion made Victor sick to his stomach, and he stepped forward with the intent on telling them all to back off.

He didn’t get a chance to do so. Across the rink, Yakov stepped in front of the reporters, hands slightly raised with his palms facing the relentless flashing bulbs. Victor couldn’t hear what his coach was saying, but he saw several of the reporters pale as the rest stumbled backwards, tripping on their own feet to escape whatever threats Yakov had tossed their way. When his coach turned around, Victor nodded his gratitude as Yakov crossed his arms and purposely turned away.

Yakov’s finger rose, pointing up at the ticking clock and Victor felt the scowl attempt to make its way onto his face. He wanted to talk to Yuuri, but he knew he was already late to lace up his skates and he sulked toward the locker room, cursing his obligation to compete under his breath.

Still buried in Makkachin’s fur, Yuuri felt Celestino’s heavy hand rest on his shoulder. Raising his face only slightly, he studied his coach’s serious face, waiting to be scolded for this out-of-the-ordinary situation.

“Yuuri,” Celestino spoke quietly, hand still pressed into Yuuri’s shoulder, “May I give you some advice?” He waited patiently for Yuuri to nod, clearing his throat before he continued. “We’ve spent a number of years together, and while I have tried my best, you have always been one to work alone toward your own success. I’ve picked the routines and given you suggestions for improvements, but you have always treated skating as a solo effort. Until recently.” Glancing over Yuuri’s shoulder, Celestino looked at Victor’s disappearing form and then back to Yuuri. “It is rare to find someone who cares so much, even rarer for _you_ to let them do so. Now I’m an old man,” he chuckled when Yuuri protested, holding up his hand to stop Yuuri from speaking, “so let me tell you what I know. The fall into love isn’t a gentle one, it’s a tumble up a poorly padded staircase and when you reach the top, you find yourself thinking, damn I’m glad to be here. In your case, I think you have fallen exactly where you need to be. Try not to think yourself out of it, okay?” With a final squeeze to Yuuri’s shoulder, Celestino stood and walked away from the kiss and cry.

Although they still had another day of competition, Yuuri felt a strange sense of loss as he watched Celestino join Yakov at the rink wall. Celestino was a good coach, and a good man, and Yuuri wished that he had given them a better chance to develop a relationship. Phichit loved Celestino and swore his loyalty to the man, as did Yuuri, but he never let Celestino past his first line of defenses. In truth, he had never let anyone all the way in, with the exception of one man. Giving Makkachin another hug, Yuuri stood from the bench, determined to find Victor.

Lacing the final loop on his skate, Victor sighed as he tossed his cell phone into his bag and yanked the zipper closed. If he had it his way, he would grab Yuuri’s hand and Makkachin’s leash and march from the arena, foregoing another gold medal and all of the pretend celebration that would go along with it. He didn’t need another disc of gold, what he needed was Yuuri and to know that Yuuri was going to be alright. Shoving his bag from the bench in frustration, he dropped his head into his hands, pressing his palms into his eyes to prevent himself from crying away another round of makeup.

“Hey.”

The familiar voice had Victor’s head shooting up, turning toward the door of the locker room to see Yuuri, blush brightening his cheeks as he clung to Makkachin’s leash. Before he could respond, Makkachin was running forward, pulling Yuuri with her as he stumbled on his skates.

Victor caught Yuuri by the upper arms, straightening him out as Makkachin jumped onto their sides and knocked them off balance. With startled shouts, Yuuri and Victor fell to the ground, laughter breaking between them before they had fully landed.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Yuuri laughed, reaching out to straighten out Victor’s hair. It sounded like a cheesy movie line, and Yuuri laughed harder, remembering the first sentence Victor had ever spoken to him.

Yuuri’s laugh. Victor had missed the sound of Yuuri’s laugh and the way Yuuri’s eyes and nose crinkled with every humor-filled breath. Overcome with his joy of having that beautiful sound fill the space around them, Victor leaned in and kissed Yuuri hard on the forehead. When Yuuri quieted, Victor dipped lower, cupping both of Yuuri’s cheeks with his hands as he bent in to finally kiss Yuuri’s lips.

The door to the locker room slammed open, causing them both to jump apart and Victor to bump his head against the leg of the bench. Cursing, he twisted to find Yuri Plisetsky standing at the door with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his Russian skating team jacket.

“Gross,” Yuri spat, looking down on Victor and Yuuri with a scowl. “Yakov says if you aren’t out there in ten seconds, you’re a dead man.” Leaning his back against the wall, Yuri continued to stare at them with an unpleasant look on his face. “Good riddance, I say.” Kicking a foot behind him, Yuri stared at Victor with a blatant attempt to look threatening.

Confused, Yuuri let Victor haul him up to his feet as Victor brought himself up to his full height. He watched with slight amusement as Victor crossed the locker room, leaning into the other Yuri’s space and ruffling his hair. Yuuri nearly choked when Victor jovially said, “thanks kitten.” Attempting to hide his smile, Yuuri waved as Victor turned to wink at him, shouting his good luck wishes as Victor exited the locker room.

_So this_ , Yuuri thought to himself looking at the skater leaning against the wall, _must be the famous junior Russian punk_. Unsure of what to do next, Yuuri sank onto the bench with the intention of unlacing his skates.

“You sucked today.”

Raising his eyebrows into his hairline, Yuuri turned his head to peer at Yuri. His blond hair hung in front of his face, and his glower looked more like a permanent state of being than a temporary facial expression. There were many rumors about the attitude of Yuri Plisetsky, and Yuuri found his anxiety rising about being alone with the famed fire cracker.

“You sucked. And you’re old. I’m going to be in seniors next year, so there is no need for you. Maybe you should retire and save yourself the embarrassment.” Pushing off of the wall, Yuri kicked the bench for an unknown reason before slamming his hand against the door and stomping from the locker room.

Yuuri took a calming breath, willing his mind not to fixate on the angry words of someone who barely knew him. Still, he could feel himself getting irritated from the obvious doubt of his skill, and he forcibly shoved the irritation to the back of his mind. Finishing with his skates, Yuuri set them aside, turning when Makkachin bumped her nose against his cheek.

“How did Victor get you in here anyway?” he asked, laughing as Makkachin licked his face. Memories flooded in his mind, of Vicchan as a puppy jumping into Yuuri’s lap to give him sloppy kisses, of Vicchan curled up in Yuuri’s lap as he watched Victor skate on the tiny television in the onsen, and of Vicchan whimpering his mother’s arms on the day Yuuri left for Detroit. All of the happiness Yuuri had finally felt creeping back in disappeared as his grief loomed back over him, driving him onto the ground to wind his arms around Makkachin’s neck.

Which was exactly where Victor found him, pushing into the locker room with his own disappointments weighing on his shoulders. His routine had been flawless, the way it always was, but without Yuuri there to watch him, it had felt like a waste of effort. Yakov had looked pleased, the crowd had cheered, and Victor had felt nothing but emptiness. He had planned to tell Yuuri all of this, until he spied his boyfriend curled on the locker room floor sobbing into Makkachin’s neck.

Dropping onto his knees, Victor wrapped an arm around both of them, turning them into a cuddling mass of human and dog. Once again pushing away his own tears and feelings, Victor whispered, “want to get out of here?”

Sniffling, Yuuri pulled one of his arms from around Makkachin to slide it around Victor’s waist. Resting his head on Victor’s shoulder, he hiccupped. “I thought you would never ask.” Victor’s small chuckle made Yuuri smile and together they stood, ready to escape the real world into a world where nothing mattered but them.


	5. Round and Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From their day off to the last day of competing, surprises of the gold variety and promises which mean much more. 
> 
> Art is coming soon for this chapter!!! I will post the link as soon as it is completed :) The scene that [rikichie](https://rikichie.tumblr.com) is drawing, I kept hidden up my sleeve from everyone, including my beta and Riki. They have forgiven me for it ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this story, please consider checking out our other one-shot collabs!   
> [Expressions of Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11626041)  
> [Home is better with you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12182775)
> 
> And come find us on Tumblr/Twitter!   
> [rikichie](https://rikichie.tumblr.com)  
> [n3rdlif343va](https://n3rdlif343va.tumblr.com)  
> [NeRdLife4Eva](https://twitter.com/NeRdLife4Eva)

Victor’s alarm sounded at ten a.m. the next morning. Rolling over, he snatched his phone from the bedside table and silenced it with a grumpy jab of his thumb. Dropping it onto the bed, he sat up with a start when he realized the space next to him was empty.

The bed felt strangely too big after spending the night piled onto it with Yuuri and Makkachin sandwiching him. Victor felt cold and lonely as he registered the complete lack of other beings in his hotel room. Pulling up his phone, he went to text Yuuri when he noticed the list of notifications sitting at the top of his screen. Flicking it down with his thumb, he scrolled through them with his usual boredom until he reached the one for Instagram. Yuuri had tagged him in a picture and Victor excitedly clicked the little box to see what he would find.

A picture of Makkachin filled his screen, jumping in the air in an attempt to catch winter birds, his mouth hanging open in what Victor swore was a smile. Yuuri had captioned the photograph “Makka vs. Birds, Round 43” making Victor laugh out loud as he scrolled down. Either Yuuri was useless in the hashtag department or he had chosen to omit them, so Victor decided to add two of his own. Happily typing out the hashtags _myloves_ and _ourhappypup_ , he locked his phone and grinned up at the ceiling.

The night before had not been full of laughter as most of their stolen nights together had been. Yuuri had argued about sharing the hotel room, concern about invading Victor’s time with Makkachin thinly veiling his attempts to hide his emotional state. Victor had insisted though, starting by offering to pay for room service and winning his argument by offering Yuuri his most comfortable sweats to sleep in.

They had rotated their shower time, Victor letting Yuuri go first while he ordered dinner and took Makkachin out for a proper walk. When he returned, finding Yuuri curled on the bed lightly snoring, he pressed a soft kiss to Yuuri’s temple before finally taking the chance to get himself clean after the day of competition and too much makeup. When he had finally emerged from the bathroom, he had discovered Yuuri and Makkachin curled together on the bed and hadn’t resisted snapping his own picture of the two most important beings in his life.  

Dinner was quiet, eaten while sitting cross-legged on the bed, with Yuuri feeding Makkachin more than he was eating himself. Victor had made the mistake of encouraging Yuuri to eat, bringing a frown to Yuuri’s face and driving them further into silence. Uncomfortable and unsettled, Victor had carried the tray piled with dirty dishes out into the hallway.

Hesitantly returning to the bed, Victor crawled towards Yuuri, placing himself inside of Yuuri’s bubble and feeling only slightly reassured when Yuuri didn’t flinch. He had asked Yuuri to talk to him, and Yuuri had broken down, collapsing forward into Victor’s arms and clinging to him as if Victor was going to disappear.

At two a.m. Victor had learned that this was Yuuri’s exact fear. He had been naïve as to the severity of Yuuri’s spiraling thoughts, and although he had tried to wrap his head around what he assumed was Yuuri’s fear of causing disappointment in others, he had missed the mark. Yuuri’s admission that a part of him knew it was irrational to think Victor would leave him over a few missed phone calls had Victor’s head spinning, as did Yuuri’s attempts to explain why his brain had decided that he shouldn’t be loved. Victor struggled to connect the dots as Yuuri tried to describe his thoughts, but he listened with the intention of trying.

In turn, Yuuri had prodded Victor about his lack of enthusiasm in his skating, showing Victor the video that Yuuri had watched on his phone while Victor was walking Makkachin. Yuuri wouldn’t accept Victor’s answers with regard to being worried about Yuuri, and eventually Victor admitted that even with Yuuri there, he couldn’t find a way to be happy on the ice. His admission had come with his own tears which Yuuri had caught with gentle kisses and reassuring words.

They had fallen asleep on top of the covers, both of them with headaches and their first real steps at understanding the darkest parts of each other. Even after the tears and the shaky divulgence of their worst fears, they had found comfort in each other, and slept soundly for the first time in days.

Commotion at the hotel room door had Victor coming back from his contemplation, propping himself up on his elbows to watch Yuuri and Makkachin fumble through the door. Yuuri laughed as Makkachin took a running leap toward the bed, and smiled as he held up a tray of coffee cups in Victor’s direction.

“You stole my dog,” Victor joked, sitting up to wrap his arms around Makkachin’s neck while Yuuri rolled his eyes and placed the coffees and a brown paper bag on the table. Curiously, Victor watched as Yuuri gingerly removed his coat, patting the left pocket a couple of times before carefully draping it over the closest chair. He was about to ask what Yuuri had in his pocket, when Yuuri turned back to him and smiled.

“I’m pretty sure you hashtagged my picture our happy pup,” Yuuri grabbed the bag and tray, moving to sit at the edge of the bed, “so I’m claiming partial ownership.” He laughed as Victor tackled him from behind with a loud smacking kiss to his cheek. All of the heaviness from yesterday had melted away and Yuuri could feel himself relaxing as Victor continued to place smaller kisses over his face. When Victor’s phone rang, Yuuri could feel Victor’s groan against his cheek and offered a coffee over his shoulder before Victor moved to answer the offensively interrupting call.

Coach Feltsman’s voice boomed into the room, a shouting reminder that Victor needed to be at the ice rink within the hour. Grimacing, Yuuri kicked off his shoes and scooted back on the bed. Listening to Victor respond in the affirmative to his coach, Yuuri shook his head as he pulled the first bagel from the bag and passed it to Victor with a sympathetic smile.

During their hours of talking the night before, Yuuri had finally gotten Victor to open up about his coach. Yakov was rumored to be the best of the best, but his reputation of being relentless and aggressive in training was true as far as Yuuri could see it. He had been increasingly concerned over the intensity of Victor’s training schedule, and he was no longer able to hold back his opinion on the topic.

Victor had been defensive at first, throwing out excuses for the long hours and the harsh way that Yakov spoke about him, but as the conversation continued, those defenses fell away. Yuuri admitted that he didn’t always feel in rhythm with Celestino, and Victor admitted that there were days that he felt outright abused by Yakov’s expectations. Those opinions and concerns were safe between them, and Yuuri could see the relief in Victor’s eyes as he finally allowed himself to admit all of those buried feelings out loud.

Setting his coffee on the nearest table, Victor shoved a giant piece of bagel in his mouth, purposely speaking with it lodged in his cheek. When Yakov loudly demanded to know what Victor was eating for breakfast, he cheerfully informed him that he was eating a cheese bagel smothered in cream cheese and jam and a plate full of sausage. None of that was true, as the bagel Victor was currently chewing was whole grain and filled with low-fat peanut butter, and he winked at Yuuri as Yuuri giggled behind his hands. The call ended with Yakov cursing Victor’s inability to listen, and both Yuuri and Victor collapsing with giggles onto the bed.

“I think you listen,” Yuuri said, reaching over to wipe a smear of peanut butter from Victor’s cheek and gasping when Victor grabbed his wrist, licking the peanut butter off of his finger. Yuuri felt his heartrate begin to pick up and gently pulled his wrist away from Victor’s grasp.

Victor let him go. He hadn’t anticipated licking Yuuri’s finger to lead him down other pathways of thinking more explicit thoughts, and he adjusted the front of his sweatpants to slow his body’s reaction. Sitting up, Victor retrieved his coffee and took a long swig. “Practice, then what? Resting until tomorrow?” The twinkle in Yuuri’s eye along with his sideways glance toward his coat, had Victor curious once again.

“How about sightseeing? Or shopping?” Yuuri tried to appear casual, noting that his voice was a tad too high. He was nervous and he glanced at Makkachin as if she would give away his secret. Glancing at Victor, Yuuri smiled, waving his hand awkwardly in the air. “Let’s have some fun while we have some time together, forget about what we do for a living. I bet Makkachin might finally defeat those birds in she gets another chance.” He felt successful in his deflection of Victor’s curious glances when Victor began laughing again.

“Alright, sightseeing and shopping it is. I will show you what real stamina is all about.” Looking sideways at Yuuri, Victor’s eyes went wide with his unintentional meaning as Yuuri blushingly laughed, shaking his head and popping the last bite of his bagel into his mouth. All Victor had to do was survive morning practice and then he would get the rest of the day with Yuuri, which sounded like a perfect trade off to him.

* * *

 

The air around them was darkening, the temperature dropping as Yuuri and Victor made their way back to the hotel. Shopping bags banging against their thighs and Makkachin nosing at the carryout food bag dangling from Yuuri’s hand. They had explored shops all over Sochi, ending at a small market close to the hotel where they had purchased food from a popular vendor. Deciding to take all of their bags back to the hotel and have another bed picnic there had been Victor’s idea and Yuuri had hesitantly accepted, his mind on his original goal for their evening.

Victor felt happy, in a way that he could never recall feeling. Every part of him felt alive and relaxed, a sharp contrast to the stressed tension he had felt earlier in the day after a grueling practice with Yakov. Every other skater had run through their routine a couple of times and practiced a handful of jumps, while Yakov had Victor running his routine five times straight and then practicing his jumps in rapid succession. Yuuri had shared loud opinions about Yakov’s version of break day work outs, and Victor had been overwhelmed by Yuuri’s protectiveness, kissing him until they were both breathless before they could even make it out of the locker room.

Their time together had made up for all of Yakov’s torture. They had wandered from destination to destination without a plan, Makkachin happily tagging along and enjoying being part of the fun. Although Victor could argue all of his days with Yuuri had been the best days of his life, this day had felt particularly special after such an intense few days of emotional turmoil and growth. Smiling at Yuuri as they crossed the hotel lobby, Victor squeezed their hands tighter together as they rode the elevator back to Victor’s room.

Yuuri couldn’t stop his nervous movement all through dinner. His foot kept twitching and his hands wouldn’t hold his plastic utensils steady. He had no reason to think that Victor was suspicious at all about his plan, but he still couldn’t get himself to settle down. Every time he dropped his fork or accidentally nudged Victor’s knee with his fidgeting, he smiled sheepishly and apologized with his eyes averted from Victor’s gaze. He was still busy trying to come up with an excuse to get them back out of the hotel room when Victor unknowingly gave him one.

“Nervous about tomorrow, my Yuuri?” Victor had watched Yuuri bumble every movement throughout dinner and easily attributed all of the erratic twitching to Yuuri’s nerves. In a way that Victor didn’t think was possible, Yuuri had somehow avoided the knowledge of the current standings in their shared competition and Victor was both astonished and slightly terrified at Yuuri’s ability to block out the world. As it stood, Yuuri was in fifth place, while Victor sat in first with a ridiculously comfortable lead on Chris’s second place spot. He would have happily switched standings with Yuuri, even with the media frenzy it would cause for the great Victor Nikiforov to be in fifth place. The last thought had a bitter taste to it, and Victor frowned into his empty plate, missing Yuuri’s answer to his question.

Victor looked lost in thought which gave Yuuri a chance to rephrase his response. “I am nervous. Usually when I am nervous like this before a competition I like to skate, but I wasn’t in the mindset ahead of this competition to find an open public rink,” Yuuri made sure to make his voice sound nervous, trying to mock his own normally shaking tone. When Victor only nodded, reaching behind him to get his bottle of water from the bedside table, Yuuri continued. “Or I dance. Sometimes I would be in Minako’s studio until sunrise. She finally made me a key so that she could sleep whenever I was being ridiculous, her words,” Yuuri chuckled at the last part, shrugging his shoulder. He missed Minako and the rest of his family and friends at home, and for a moment the sadness tried to creep back in.

Seeing the flicker of unhappiness cross Yuuri’s face, Victor grabbed his phone and immediately opened it to his search engine. “Maybe we could find somewhere to dance?” he tapped the search box and started typing. Their day had been so wonderful and Victor didn’t want to lose that happiness now, especially if it came with the excuse to dance with Yuuri again. When the first result that popped up was for an outdoor show, boasting live music and a heated stage for dancing, Victor turned his phone to show Yuuri with a squeak of delight.

Pretending to consider the option, Yuuri took his last bite of food before slowly nodding his head. The venue was walking distance from the hotel, a fact that Yuuri had discovered when he and Makkachin had followed the same directions earlier that morning. Trying not to grin and give himself away, Yuuri agreed with the plan and happily went to work cleaning up their dinner containers.

* * *

 

The world was filled with music and decorated with twinkling lights as Victor curled happily with Yuuri’s leading hand guiding him out into a spin. His heart somersaulted in his chest as Yuuri drew him back, pulling him close and slotting their bodies together, stealing a quick kiss as Yuuri continued to lead him across the dance floor.

Victor could no longer feel the slight chill in the air, the warmth of Yuuri’s body against him and the heat of their bodies moving together was enough to make up for the lack of heat that had been promised on the outdoor stage. They had been the only two idiots who had remained dancing for the last thirty minutes, and Victor found himself once again giddy with the feeling of Yuuri.

Around them the music slowed, a faintly familiar song that Yuuri couldn’t quite place. Slowing them down to small rotating circles, Yuuri happily accepted the kiss that Victor snuck onto the tip of his nose while his heart began to race in his chest. Slipping his hand into his coat pocket, he carefully opened the hidden box, hooking the two rings around his finger as he pulled his hand from his pocket.

“What are you doing, my Yuuri?” Victor had seen the red flush over Yuuri’s cheeks, glancing down as Yuuri slid a hand into his pocket. The same pocket that Yuuri had been fiddling with since the moment he had returned from his morning walk with Makkachin.

Breathing unsteadily, Yuuri closed his eyes to gather his courage.

It had been a split second decision, the rings calling to him from the shop window as he had been searching for the coffee shop. They were simple gold bands, but hidden inside was the engraved shape of a snowflake, split between the two bands and only whole when placed together. It was the engraving that had sold Yuuri on them, and he had purchased both bands before he could cowardly talk himself out of it. Taking a deep breath, he took a step away from Victor and lifted Victor’s right hand.

The flash of gold had all the breath rushing from Victor’s lungs as Yuuri slid it onto his finger. Staring at his hand, he barely registered Yuuri speaking, shaking his head before looking up and seeing Yuuri’s lips moving with words that Victor couldn’t hear over the beating of his own heart and the drone of the band’s music. When Yuuri lifted his own hand, showing an identical ring, Victor was convinced that his heart and stopped beating completely. Seeing Yuuri stop talking, a nervous smile pulling at his lips as the blush continued to highlight his cheeks, Victor touched Yuuri’s cheek and whispered, “I didn’t hear a word you just said.”

Shocked into laughter, Yuuri grabbed Victor by the front of his coat and pulled him into a kiss. A breath away from Victor’s lips, Yuuri shook his head. “I’ll say it all again back at the room, okay?” He laughed when Victor nodded and wrapped his arms around Victor’s waist, leaning back in to kiss him again.

Behind them, the band continued to jokingly play Crash Into Me as the band members quietly exclaimed over the two people dancing in front of them.

* * *

 

Victor stood in the center of the ice, eyes trained downward as he waited for his music to start. On his hand, glinting for the world to see was the gold ring, a symbol of luck and of a promise made between himself and the man he loved most. Catching sight of the hint of gold, Victor pushed off, letting his routine come to life one last time.

From the sidelines Yuuri watched as Victor skated. This was the Victor he remembered, the one who skated as if the song was made as a highlight to his movements and not as the dictator of them. He was relaxed and fluid, even if Yuuri noted the sadness still reflecting in his eyes.

Heading into his first jump, Victor thought of watching Yuuri’s videos of his flawless practice quads and his subsequent mess of a quad in his short program. He thought of Yuuri’s determined crease between his brows as he listened to Victor’s suggestions and the happy sound of Yuuri celebrating as he landed. As Victor landed his own jump, the crowd exploded with applause.

Every movement was flawless and Yuuri couldn’t pull his eyes away from the ice. Victor was his competition, but Yuuri was content watching any chance at gold disappear before his eyes. He was fulfilling his dream by skating on the same ice as Victor, and better than that, his heart was filled with his love for the man. Victor Nikiforov was no longer Yuuri’s untouchable idol, he was a silly, sensitive, and wonderfully flawed man who was the center of Yuuri’s whole world.

There was less emptiness as Victor landed his second jump, twirling immediately into a spin and then moving on to his step sequence. He thought of Yuuri holding Makkachin, the sound of Yuuri’s laughter and the way their hands fit together. It was Yuuri who brought happiness into his world, and Victor let the strength of Yuuri’s love in his life carry him through his next jump combination.

It was perfection. Yuuri heard the crowd losing its collective mind as Victor landed, surely skating what would be a record-breaking performance. No one in the arena knew that Victor was skating without his heart in it, but Yuuri could see the difference. Victor was performing like his old self, but his eyes continued to seek out Yuuri as he moved, and Yuuri knew that Victor wasn’t skating for the sake of his score. Victor was skating for Yuuri, and he felt the tears catch on his eyelashes as he blinked.

His last move. Spinning in a perfect hold, Victor let the force twirl him faster. His world a blur of light as he remembered the first time Yuuri had looked at him, eyes wide as he protected Victor’s head from hitting the ice. The moment that had changed his life and as Victor came to rest, arms bent perfectly into his final pose, it was still Yuuri’s face he saw as the crowd began to cheer.

* * *

 

The competition was over. Victor had taken the gold, a medal he had worn for all of thirty seconds before bending down to loop it over Yuuri’s neck, dropping it to hang next to Yuuri’s bronze. He didn’t care about what the press, or even Yakov, would say about the move. Yuuri was better than any medal, and Victor counted his series a win only because he had met Yuuri Katsuki.

Yuuri had tried to give the medal back, blushing hard as Victor continue to put it back around his neck every time Yuuri took it off. He had come back from his failure of a short program to win bronze and had vowed to try his hardest to win gold the following year. Still, as he removed the ribbon of the gold medal for a fifth time, he knew that what he had gained that season was so much more than a tangible object. He had fallen in love with the best person he had ever known, and somehow Victor had fallen right back. His medal was bronze, but he considered everything about the series to be coated in gold.

Straightening his jacket, Yuuri raised his hand to knock on Victor’s hotel room door. It had been a silly idea, Yuuri getting ready in his own room, when he could have easily moved his things to Victor’s, but it had felt right. He wanted to pick Victor up for their banquet together even though he was carrying his luggage, with the intention of leaving it in Victor’s room. It would be their last night in Sochi together, and neither of them had any desire to spend another second of it alone. Knocking lightly, Yuuri jumped when the door flew open.

Victor looked like a model with his perfectly tailored suit, expertly knotted tie and flawlessly parted hair. He was irresistible as he smiled at Yuuri, leaning forward to gather Yuuri’s belongings from his hands. Losing all train of thought outside of wanting to kiss Victor, Yuuri wrapped his hand around Victor’s tie and pulled him down into a kiss.

_The never-ending surprises of Yuuri Katsuki_ , Victor mused, flinging Yuuri’s bags behind him and wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s waist. He was caught between getting lost in the kiss and trying to figure out a way to convince Yuuri to skip the banquet, when Yuuri broke away, stepping back with a smile on his face.

“Ready to go?” Yuuri asked, smiling up at Victor without a hint of nervousness as he smoothed down Victor’s tie. The heat on Victor’s face and the quickness of his breath had Yuuri feeling smug. He hated banquets, but the promise of having Victor by his side had him feeling confident in a way he had never been.

Yuuri was wearing the most hideous tie and JPF issued suit jacket, looking like the most beautiful man Victor had ever seen. Mentally vowing to burn the tie and hide the jacket, Victor smirked as he guided Yuuri into another kiss. It didn’t matter what Yuuri wore, because he was smiling so brightly, eyes full of hope and love, and Victor would have been content to attend a banquet with Yuuri in a piggy onesie.

Releasing Yuuri from the kiss, Victor smiled as he pulled away. “As long as I’m with you, I’m ready to go anywhere.”

Fingers laced together, hands swinging between them, Yuuri and Victor made their way to their last banquet of the series.


	6. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sochi banquet - different beginning, similar ending ;) 
> 
> Also art coming for the epilogue created by the amazing [rikichie](https://rikichie.tumblr.com) which I will add as soon as the link is live!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to the mods of the [ Victuri-big-bang on Tumblr](https://victuri-big-bang.tumblr.com)!!!! Without this bang, I may have never written this story and I may have never met Riki. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for all of your hard work in organizing this event!! 
> 
> And thank you to each of you who has read, liked, and shared this story! Your support means so much to me!!! 
> 
> Please come see me and Riki on Tumblr if you want to talk YOI or about anything else!! XOXOXO  
> [rikichie](https://rikichie.tumblr.com)  
> [n3rdlif343va](https://n3rdlif343va.tumblr.com)  
> [NeRdLife4Eva on Twitter](https://twitter.com/NeRdLife4Eva)

Pain. Yuuri registered pain, bouncing in his head like fervent rubber balls hell-bent on denting his brain. It was the kind of feeling that he got when he had indulged in too much alcohol, and he quickly groaned knowing that was exactly what had happened.

Forcing one of his eyes open, he discovered he was cradled in the crook of Victor’s shoulder while Victor was gently rubbing circles into the small of Yuuri’s back. The room had the hint of light in it and Yuuri tried to turn his head to attempt to process what time of day it was. Giving up when the world begin to spin, he dropped his head to bury it against Victor’s shoulder.

Victor’s bare shoulder. Moving faster than he should have, Yuuri pushed himself up, glancing down at Victor’s naked torso, his legs covered in a pair of sweats like looked suspiciously like they belonged to Yuuri. Fearing the worst, he let his narrowed eyes take in his own attire, noting the socks on his feet, his underwear from the night before and Victor’s dress shirt left open over his chest. When Victor chuckled, Yuuri looked up at his very cheerful boyfriend.

“You’re alive,” Victor commented, locking his phone and placing it on the bed next to him. Using the hand already on Yuuri’s back, he tried to encourage Yuuri to return to their cuddles. Victor had been up for 3 hours, even though he had rescheduled their flights the night before to give them one more day together and giving them both the opportunity to sleep in. He had been too excited to sleep with all the new possibilities swimming in his mind, and he had happily let Yuuri snuggle into him as he began researching movers on his phone.

“Did we…” Yuuri trailed off, giving in to the push of Victor’s palm as he sprawled back over Victor’s bare chest. He could only recall fuzzy pieces of the night, and he was worried that he had completely forgotten their first time together.

Victor burst out laughing. “Oh, my Yuuri, you could not have consented to any such activity last night,” he continued to laugh, readjusting his hips so that he could bring them face-to-face and wrap both arms around Yuuri’s body. “You were very adorable though, and your Victor impression was quite impressive,” Victor continued to tease as Yuuri covered his face with his hands and tucked his head into Victor’s chest, Victor couldn’t help but pause to kiss Yuuri on the top of his head. “Drunk Yuuri is quite the dancer, although I would request that the pole dancing be a private show kind of thing from now on.”

A piece of Yuuri’s soul died, ascended from Yuuri’s body, cackling as it escaped from the world’s most embarrassing situation. “Pole dancing…” It was a skill that he had failed to mention during their time together, and Yuuri was ashamed that his drunk self had let the secret out so easily.

“Mmhhmm,” Victor hummed happily, wiggling down on the bed so he could nudge against Yuuri’s hidden face with his nose. “I have to admit, when you let Christophe join you, I almost killed a man.” He wasn’t the jealous type per say, but Victor had definitely kept his hands in his pockets to ensure that he wouldn’t accidentally wrap them around Chris’s neck. “Your dance battle with Yuri Plisetsky was quite impressive, but I most enjoyed our turn, my little bull.” Pecking kisses to Yuuri’s hands, which were still clamped over his face, Victor gave him a second to piece it all back together. Yuuri had seemed fairly aware throughout all of the dancing, his skill breath-taking and more of a turn on than Victor could have admitted in polite company. When Yuuri had thrown himself around Victor’s neck, grinding into Victor’s hips, Victor’s willpower had snapped.

He was positive that Yuuri wouldn’t remember a single second beyond Victor throwing him over his shoulder and dragging him from the banquet room, including all of Yuuri’s opinions about exactly why he needed to wear Victor’s dress shirt to bed. When he had tossed Victor his sweatpants declaring a fair trade, Victor had happily accepted them, knowing there was no chance that Yuuri was getting them back. “What made you drink so much anyway?” Victor ran his hands idly down Yuuri’s back, pressing tenderly into the tight muscles.

Pinching his eyes shut, Yuuri tried to grasp at the earliest strings of the night. He remembered arriving at the banquet with Victor and then suddenly being alone, as Yakov tore Victor away to meet with sponsors. It had been like being abandoned in the cold surrounded by wolves and Yuuri couldn’t recover from believing he would feel secure at the banquet to end up being left to fend for himself.

At first he dutifully stood by Celestino’s side, again enduring the monologues being thrown at them by various sponsor reps, but he was sulky and frustrated, eventually moving to the back of the room to pout alone. When he had spotted the champagne glasses he told himself he would have one to take the edge off, around glass number ten was when his memory started to get a little fuzzy.

Victor continued to rub Yuuri’s back as Yuuri explained all of this, Victor’s guilt building that he had let the stale obligation to his coach leave Yuuri to drink his way into a complete stupor. As much fun as the night had been, Victor could feel the guilt creeping over him that his actions had led to Yuuri’s current discomfort. “I’m sorry, my love,” Victor said, the emotion burning at the back of his throat.

“Wait,” Yuuri finally unburied his head, uncaring about the throbbing pain still banging at the inside of his skull. “Victor, this isn’t your fault! You had to follow Yakov, that’s part of our job. And there was no way for you to know how much I drank… I don’t even know how much I drank,” giving up on keeping his head raised, Yuuri let it drop back onto Victor’s bicep. “Drunk Yuuri is an unstoppable force, and the fact that I am here and safe with you, well that means something.” Cuddling back into Victor’s chest, Yuuri pressed his forehead against his boyfriend.

There seemed to be a story or two hidden behind Yuuri’s words and Victor decided to table that discussion for another day. Accepting Yuuri’s snuggles, Victor hummed as he placed kisses into Yuuri’s hair. “Drunk Yuuri did have some fabulous ideas though,” using his fingertips to tip Yuuri’s chin up, Victor smiled at Yuuri’s still sleepy expression. “Extending our stay here in Sochi for another day, which I have already done by the way, and I do think I will like Hasetsu and being your coach… I have found the names of some international movers that should be quite helpful.” The startled expression on Yuuri’s face made Victor stop talking, a lead ball of realization landing with a thud in his stomach. The suggestion had first come while they were whirling through the banquet room, trading leads, and making everyone envious of their grace. Then Yuuri had said it again, arms thrown over Victor’s shoulders while grinding his pelvis into Victor’s in a way that had Victor shifting on the bed as he recalled the sensation. He had questioned whether Yuuri remembered the latter part, but he had been positive that Yuuri was speaking consciously and openly while they were dancing. Searching Yuuri’s confused face, Victor swallowed hard. “Oh… do you… oh… you don’t remember…” with one owlish blink of Yuuri’s long lashes, all of Victor’s hopes for their future became shaky.

“You want to be my coach?” Yuuri asked, once again pushing up on his hands, knocking Victor backwards onto the bed. Staring hard into Victor’s eyes, Yuuri shook his head. “You want to be my coach, in Hasetsu? Home? My home?” The thoughts were spinning again, but this time instead of feeling sick, Yuuri was feeling giddy with possibility. He could finish the season with Celestino, completing their contract and graduating school, and then he could return home, move his rink to his home ice with Victor as a coach. A vague memory of this plan, being excitedly explained as Yuuri threw his clothing over the floor of their hotel room came creeping back as Yuuri started to smile at Victor. “But your career…” The thought struck like a minor chord in his head, ill-fitting with the rest of the happy song filling Yuuri’s mind.

“I’m tired, Yuuri,” Victor sighed, trying to decipher what was happening in his fiance’s busy brain. “Skating is at a stalemate right now for me, it doesn’t bring me joy. What brings me joy is being with you, and Makkachin, and seeing skating through your eyes is what inspires me.” Brushing the hair from Yuuri’s forehead, Victor could feel the potential tears rising in his eyes. “So yes, Yuuri, if you’ll have me, I’ll be your coach, and next year we’ll win gold together at the grand prix… together.”

Could happiness cure a hangover? Yuuri was one hundred percent positive that it could as his head felt light and pain free as he processed Victor’s offer. Smiling, so wide that his cheeks ached with it, Yuuri leaned forward to touch Victor’s face. “Let’s do it. Be my coach, Victor, and stay by my side.”

“And I’ll never leave,” Victor promised, leaning up to close the distance between them, sealing his promise with a kiss.

Everything else was details, small tidbits of life to organize and rearrange. What was important was right there, the two of them, ready to stop facing the world alone and instead strive for a better journey together.   


End file.
